


Arcane Warrior

by Sanguinarian



Series: Dragon Age Collections [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Lemon, M/M, Magic, Multi, Novelization, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 102,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanguinarian/pseuds/Sanguinarian
Summary: A powerful young mage, having not a day before become a fully fledged mage of the circle and aided a friend to avoid a fate worse than death only to betrayed in the end, finds himself conscripted into the legendary Gray Wardens.





	1. Prologue

The girl opened her oceanic blue eyes, only to see a small area of barren landscape around her, lit by a single, narrow sunbeam. She looked up, squinting, she could barely see the sun through the all encompassing darkness shrouding the area like a blanket.

Suddenly, the sunlit area began to narrow as the darkness crept toward her, closing in on her like the walls of a prison. Her heart began to race in fear as the claustrophobia set in, she did the only thing her anxiety addled mind could think of.

She ran.

She ran as far and as fast as she could, but the darkness was always just a step behind her. All the unwanted shadows and memories that she was so desperately running from sprang to the forefront of her mind, causing her to fight back tears as she ran faster, ignoring the burning in her legs in her terror.

Then came a noise, quiet, far away, but looming closely like whatever it was was just outside of her range, but she didn't want to find out what it was as she just closed her eyes and ran harder, but she almost stumbled and fell when the noise exploded into a cacophony of screams, pained, agonized screams.

The sun was all but gone now, and the light with it, and the screams from behind were only exacerbating her paranoia and fear, and it was all she could do to try to shut it all out as she desperately ran away from it all, trying to find some safe haven in this nightmare world where all of this would leave her alone.

As if reacting to her thoughts, there came a great roar that all but eclipsed the screams, and her own scream joined the noise, though she could scarcely hear it as she jumped forward to escape whatever it was that made such a terrifying sound.

She fell.

Her heart was beating so hard she feared it might burst forth from her chest, and she could only cry as she fell down the sheer cliff face. The darkness was rapidly approaching her now, and as tears traveled down her face in rivulets now, she frantically prayed to the maker to save her.

The darkness caught up to her, after what seemed like an eternity of falling, and started to devour her. Her eyes widened in panic as she discovered that she could no longer feel her feet after the darkness had encompassed them.

Her legs, then her hips, her hands and arms, all were taken away by that terrible darkness, until only a single eye was left, terrified and wet with unshed tears.

Just as it was, when all hope had faded, that a light shown down upon her. A bright, warm, heavenly light, silencing the screams and the roaring, chasing away the darkness until she could see and feel herself again. As she floated there, seemingly suspended in place by the light, she looked up and saw a figure.

She could not make out the person's features, it was silhouetted by the the light, save for its large, canted deer-like eyes which were shining with the same heavenly light that hid the rest of its features from view, but it was obviously an elf due to its thin, willowy body and pointed, leaf-shaped ears. The one feature she could make out was its hair, it was very long, indefinably so as it was swaying in a nonexistent wind.

The figure came closer to her, opening its arms in a welcoming embrace. The figure, obviously male due to the notable lack of a swelled chest, wrapped his arms around her lovingly, protectively, as if to shield her from all her worries and fears. She hugged the man tightly in return, clasping her hands behind his neck, closing her eyes and resting her head in the crook of his neck as her tears poured forth anew. But not of terror, these were tears of happiness, pouring forth from the unbridled love that she felt flowing through her.

A gentle smile made its way onto her face, and her eyes opened again, only to widen at the revelation that, even though the light had not lessened in intensity, she could now see the person holding her so lovingly in perfect detail. He was naked, as was she, though she didn't notice until now, and as she backed away slightly she saw his nicely formed chest, his skin was a dark shade of olive that nicely offset her own alabaster tone.

Her gaze rose slowly to see a silver chain necklace, the pendant a round disk with a chantry sunburst emblazoned on the cracked and broken face, upward still past his well formed neck to his face. Such a wonderful face, she thought, for it drew her in instantly. He wasn't conventionally handsome, as there were deep tear troughs under his eyes, and his cheeks and sharp jawline were marred by scars, some jagged and some clean.

Still, she was drawn, like a moth to the flame, to this elf's face. His jawline was sharp and well formed, his ears were long and tapered to a very fine point, and his hair was long, thick and white as snow. He had thin lips, a straight elegant nose, thin and aristocratically arched eyebrows, and large royal purple eyes ringed by long feminine white eyelashes.

She gazed into the beautiful eyes gazing back at her with such warmth and love as to make her knees tremble with weakness, and started to lean in. He responded to her advance by leaning in as well, and just as their lips were about to meet...

* * *

She burst forth on her bed, her eyes opening wide as she gasped for breath, quilt pooling around her waist. _'Quilt?'_ the asked herself, clenching the aforementioned piece of cloth gingerly, she had just been been bout to kiss a beautiful elf and now...

_'It was just a dream'_ she thought with mixed sadness and relief.

Sighing, she got out of bed, made it, and put on her red, white and black habit.

* * *

She walked down the chantry stairs to the cobblestone path that led through the gardens, her eyes were not on focused on the garden though, her mind was afire with thoughts about her most unusual of dreams. Most dreams she had were just passing memories, forgotten as soon as she rose from her bed, but this one stuck with her. Why?

So lost in her thoughts was she, that she almost crashed into the village chanter, a kindly man by the name of Devons, it was only due to her reflexes, though rusty from years of disuse, that she was able to twist out of the way and avoid a collision. Bowing to each-other in greetings, the two went their separate ways, though she was more focused on what she was doing now.

A spot of blue registered out of the corner of her eye as she made her way through the garden, and when she remembered where that spot of color was, she froze mid-step.

She turned slowly, and approached in amazement. There, in front of her, was was a dead, gnarled rosebush, the grey vines twisted and tangled with each-other. But it was there in the middle, a single, beautiful deep blue rose, the same shade as her eyes. She teared up at this intensely spiritual experience.

Light within darkness, beauty within ugliness... life within death.

She rose to her feet and ran to the doors of the chantry to tell the revered mother of this dream... this vision from the Maker.

* * *

If one were to travel along the shores of Lake Calenhad, one would inevitably catch sight of the imposing tower fortress called Kinloch Hold, a relic of the once mighty Tevinter Imperium. If the traveler were to look more closely, they would notice the remnants of a massive bridge that was never fully rebuilt, several small docks lining the shores, all closely watched by armored sentinels.

Most travelers didn't notice any of this, however. They turned their heads down and away, pulled their cloaks tighter about themselves, and fixed their thoughts on more hospitable places like Denerim or Amaranthine. Places not touched by the curse of magic.

Within the tower, quiet usually reigns. Aside from the occasional explosion, there is only the soft murmur of conversation between mages, or 'robes', and the clinking of the soldiers stationed at regular intervals along the curved halls constantly on watch for anything out of the ordinary. At night things became even more silent, as the inhabitants settle down to dream, and the guards' watch even more closely in this deceptively peaceful time.

This is the home of the Circle of Magi of Ferelden. Some called it a haven, others a prison. It was the only place in the kingdom where mages can legally live and practice their Maker given powers of magic, under the watchful scrutiny of the Chantry's Templar order. It is the duty of these feared religious warriors to watch for and slay apostates, maleficarum, and abominations.

Apprentice mages, almost always taken in youth, must learn to control their powers in preparation for the ultimate test.

The Harrowing.

"Wake up."

Alim Surana's purple eyes snapped open, and he was on the verge of casting a shield spell before his mind caught up. The templar standing over him would probably "mistake" the action as hostile, and take action were it any other than Cullen, with whom Alim had formed a tentative friendship.

"Rise, apprentice, you are to come with me," Cullen said quietly. Alim slowly got up, noting his friend's oddly formal tone, and pulled his unadorned apprentice robes on as he looked around the barracks that apprentices were stuffed into to see if anyone else was being woken. He was the only one, which could only mean one thing.

_'It is time, then,'_ he thought, pushing his waist-length white hair behind his ears and styling it into an Orlesian braid, a style he was well-practiced at as he had done it every morning since arriving at the tower some fourteen years ago, before turning back to the waiting templar, who turned and left the room.

They started making their way up through the tower, through the libraries that held so much knowledge on all things (Chantry approved things, at least), past the laboratories used in the creation of various magical potions and the study of creatures. They moved up into the Templar quarters, which apprentices were forbidden from entering, before finally reaching the Harrowing chamber at the very top of the tower.

There were three more templars and a mage already waiting in the massive, empty room. Though old and wizened-looking, the mage still radiated a sense of power, and with good reason, for he was First Enchanter Irving, widely considered one of the most talented mages Thedas had seen in many years. Alim's grandfather figure and mentor stood straight-backed and tall, with forest-green eyes set within his wizened face, with long salt and pepper hair with a matching beard, wearing the first enchanter's signature black robes and carrying his silverite staff.

A short distance away, flanked by his helmeted underlings, stood Knight Commander Greagoir, the final authority of the Ferelden Circle. Though no youngling himself, he still had a severe aura about him as he stood ramrod straight. He wore the shining silverite armor restricted to knight commanders, and carried an enchanted silverite arming sword on his belt with a kite shield on his back.

Cullen led the young elf over to the gathered assemblage.

Alim stood be Irving as his guide abandoned him to stand behind Greagoir, and the old Templar stepped forward and took a deep breath.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," Greagoir quoted from the Chant of Light. "Thus spoke the Prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin." He began to pace dramatically.

"Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for demons of the Fade are drawn to you and seek to use you as a gateway into this world." He stopped and glared at Alim, who nodded to indicate he was listening. Graegoir was really trying his patience with his ranting, Alim already knew this even better than the knight commander did, and the constant reminders did not sit well with him.

"This is why the Harrowing exists." Irving continued, stepping forward and putting a sympathetic hand on Alim's shoulder. "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will."

_'So it's sink-or-swim at its finest then.'_ Alim nodded. "I am ready."

"Know this, apprentice, should you fail, we Templar will perform our duty. You will die." Greagoir warned, making the templars behind him, Cullen and a woman with blond hair peeking out underneath her helmet, shift uncomfortably.

Perhaps attempting to blunt this stark statement of intention, Irving spoke up. "The Harrowing is a secret through necessity, child. Every mage must go through this trial by fire, as we succeeded, so shall you. Keep your wits about you, and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams, the spirits may rule it, but your own will is real." Alim nodded, he had heard all of this many times before, but the comforting tone in Irving's voice calmed his nerves somewhat.

"The apprentice must go through this test _alone_ , First Enchanter." Greagoir cut in, sounding annoyed.

_'What, did something happen?'_ Alim thought, as the Knight Commander and First Enchanter were long-time friends, true their friendship was a bit strained from something that happened in the past, but overall they got on pretty well. Irving shook his head sadly before gesturing Alim forward.

"You are ready."

Alim nodded, and approached the small font at the center of the room. A soft blue glow emanated from the mercurial liquid, and Alim sensed the power radiating from the refined lyrium within. Though potentially addictive and dangerous if overused, lyrium was the essence of magic, and Alim took a moment to just bask in the flow. Finally, he let his magic flow into his hand and gently dipped it into the lyrium. The liquid stuck to his hand and started crawling up his arm. He panicked, lyrium had a tendancy to sink into flesh like water, so with a burst of magic, he banished the liquid off of his hand and back into the font. Suddenly, he was engulfed in a flash of light.

The last thing he saw was Irving catching his body before his head could crack on the floor as the templars surrounded Alim's sleeping body and waited to see what would happen next.

 


	2. Dream Walker

Once his awareness returned to him, he opened his eyes to see he was atop a nebulous plateau-like area (but the landscape here was too chaotic and ever-shifting to accurately be called such), surrounded by nonsensical architecture and landscapes.

The very air here was distorted, filled with energy and warping his view of everything.

Massive grotesque statues dotted the area and the ground flowed randomly with grass, dirt, and stone. Glancing into the distance, Alim saw a series of floating islands in a reddish-brown sky, as well as the only constant sight in the Fade: the Black City, once home to the Maker, and now a grim reminder of humanity's pride.

Alim snorted in derision. Whenever a mage visited the fade, whether or not they were actually human, the templars always told them in no uncertain terms about how it was their brethren who was responsible for having corrupted the Golden City and cursed Thedas with the blight.

Alim shook his head and dragged himself back to his current situation. He had a demon to find if he wanted to avoid being yet another unmarked grave at the shores of Lake Calenhad. He walked over to the edge of the plateau and glanced down. He saw a ball of light flitting around near the end of a small path leading up to his position.

 _'A wisp'_ he thought. These collections of magic were the last remnants of a deceased spirit; they were pure reflections of the defining emotion of the spirit they were in life. A "good" wisp, based on a benevolent spirit, would often try to guide or protect dreamers, while one that came from a demon would generally attack on sight, unable to discern friend from foe.

Alim prepared a spell as he approached the twitching being, since it was almost impossible to tell what type a wisp was from a distance.

A wordless screech of rage echoed through the area as the wisp noticed Alim. Without hesitation, he launched his blade-shaped blast of energy before countering the wisp's lightning ball with a shield. Lacking any thoughts of self-preservation, the rage wisp died as Alim's spell tore through it.

Pushing on, Alim passed through an out-of-place canyon, noting with some amusement the upside-down trees and odd broken marble pillars, which brought to mind what he read about the environment here only being a poor imitation of the physical world.

A few more rage wisps fell without resistance before Alim found something interesting. A mouse… or what seemed like a mouse. He reminded himself that nothing in this place was as it seemed.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever." Alim glanced down, idly wondering how such a human sounding voice came out of that off-shaped mouth. "It isn't right that they do this, the templars. Not to you, me, anyone."

"No, it isn't right at all. But I will succeed, right or not." Alim stated with confidence, crouching down to get a better look, discreetly preparing an Arcane Shield should the thing prove hostile. The mouse pulled himself out of his hole and said with a scoff. "You say that now. So have many others before you. Look at me, look at what can happen." Alim narrowed his eyes at the pathetic creatures futile attempts to break his spirit.

The mouse sighed, "it's always the same. But it's not your fault, you're in the same boat that I was, aren't you?" the mouse asked rhetorically as it started to glow; it's form flowing upwards. Alim cast the Arcane Shield immediately, but the mouse (now a human) ignored the magic wall between them and continued sardonically "allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me, well, Mouse."

"You were an apprentice then?" Alim asked causing Mouse to nod solemnly.

He kept up the shield separating them, wary of the so-called apprentice who happened to be wearing the robes of a senior enchanter, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. One could change his appearance on a whim here, it was entirely possible that he changed his robes to make himself seem more intimidating.

"It's fuzzy, that time before. They wake you up in the middle of the night and drag you to the Harrowing chamber, and then..." Mouse paused, making Alim suspicious, "the templars kill you if you take too long, you see" he hissed with renewed rage. "They figure you failed, and don't want something getting out." He started pacing. The creatures voice dropped to a frustrated mutter, "that's what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim.

"And you don't have much time before you end up the same." He finished, and Alim arched an eyebrow. He seemed to be in a hurry, but there was no concept of time here, it was truly impossible to tell how long it had been since he arrived here.

Alim shrugged. "I already knew they were out to get us, so I'm not surprised. Sorry about what happened to you, for what it's worth... Mouse." Mouse sighed again.

"Don't waste time with that talk, you don't want to end up like-" he gestured to himself, "-this. There's a creature here, contained, just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the creature, a demon, and resist it, if you can.

"That's your way out. Or your opponent's, if the templars wouldn't kill you. A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the fade." Mouse once again finished his long winded speech with a long drawl, drawing out his last word.

Alim crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow "anything can die. I doubt it's as simple as that." He said confidently, having engaged many of his instructors and fellow apprentices in magic duels, and even the few templars willing to engage a mage in melee combat, he was fairly sure about his chances here where willpower mattered more than strength, and therefore a mage like him had every advantage.

With First Enchanter Irving having brought him up to be a Knight Enchanter like himself, all the more so.

"You would be a fool to just attack everything you see," Mouse boomed disdainfully, "what you face is powerful. Cunning." Alim sighed, he didn't expect this test to be easy, but...

Alim moved around Mouse and continued down the path, hearing the former apprentice transform behind him. A few seconds later, Alim realized that there was a patter of feet behind him. Turning, he saw that Mouse was following him.

Alim kept the shield separating them active but invisible. He was not willing to trust anything here, even after a few 'well meaning' words of advise, especially so, as demons would try to manipulate him and get on his good side. The hesitation brought about by a sudden betrayal by one you thought a friend was just enough time a demon, if sufficiently cunning, needed to get what it wanted.

Answering the question that Alim was about to ask, Mouse said "I think I'll follow you for a while. My time was long ago, but you might have a chance. I would like to help in any way I can, such as telling you a spirit is currently residing on a hill just beyond this canyon." Alim thanked Mouse again, and the two moved on, Alim destroying another wisp without much effort.

Proceeding cautiously, Mouse was as much help as he thought he would be when he encountered several minor, hostile spirits. His whiskers stood on end and he was gone in a flash into the nearest hole, shadow, or any other cover he could find. It was no more than he expected, and he found himself missing Jowan. He was always nearby when he needed him, and he wouldn't have run off like a coward when the glowing balls of light attacked.

The small victories over the wisps gave him an uneasy sense of self-confidence. Although painful experience had taught him that a little confidence was a gift, and too much a curse, it carried him through several more encounters of the same type.

He wound his way through the blurred, ever shifting landscape, not bothering to look for Mouse any time one of the wisps appeared. To be fair, it was Alim's test, not Mouse's, but if he was always so worthless in a fight it was hardly a wonder he was stuck here without a body to return to.

But perhaps that was not fair of him. Alim had always had a disdain for weaklings and cowards. As a child he had dreamed of being a knight, having grown up on his grandfathers stories of his time in service under Loghain in the war with Orlais, and being under strict physical training under his harsh taskmaster of an aunt. Under the two of them he gained a sort of knightly bearing, his every action one of chivalry and honor.

Even after he was carted off to the tower, the honor and valor his family had taught him had not gone away.

The one thing Mouse seemed to be good at was fits of warning squeaks. In spite of his urgent warnings about taking too long and the templars lurking with a sword ready to fall, severing his spine, he didn't rush.

The probability of getting killed here was simply to high to allow himself to get careless and rush through this. If he didn't manage to keep his skin whole in the dream world, it wasn't going to matter what the templars did. Although he didn't know for certain, he assumed that if should he die in the dream realm, his body would subsequently waste away to death at the top of the tower, having no soul to inhabit it.

"Another spirit this way. It never seemed equal to its name to me," Mouse's mutterings behind him went ignored.

The pair left the canyon and made their way up the hill, Mouse falling behind as Alim beheld the new spirit. It was armored from head to toe and carried an arming sword and kite shield with a lion head emblazoned on the face strapped to its arm, it was surrounded by piles and racks of every weapon imaginable, with a double helix of swords extending straight upward towards the sky hovered in midair, as there was no concept of gravity here.

 **"Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see"** the spirit announced in a booming voice, turning to look at him. **"Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you should be pitted against each other to prove your mettle, than to be sent unarmed against a demon."**

"I agree with you spirit, but I didn't have much choice in the matter you see." Alim said, ignoring the fact that it was the templars, whom the spirit dressed like, whom had probably come up with the Harrowing.

 **"Indeed, the choice, and the fault, lies with the mages who sent you here."** Valor said, and Alim had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Spirits were very touchy, and took offense easily.

"What kind of spirit are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

 **"I am Valor, a warrior spirit."** Valor responded with a touch of pride. **"My purpose is to seek perfection, creating the ultimate weapon for the pursuit of valor."**

"Well, since you have so many weapons, do you think that I could borrow a staff to fight the demon with?" Alim asked. Valor folded his arms thoughtfully.

**"I will give you one… if you agree to duel me. Valor will test your mettle as it should be tested."**

"Very well Valor, I agree to your challenge." Alim agreed, ignoring Mouse's warning that he didn't have much time, not trusting the opinions of such a coward. For whatever reason Mouse seemed to believe that it was only the templars watching him, and not the First Enchanter who's words held much wait among the knights of the Chantry.

**"We shall continue until I am satisfied. If you are unable to meet my standards, I shall slay you. Is this acceptable?"**

"Yes" Alim said concisely, preparing his magic. Valor drew his sword with a flourish, looking impressed that Alim had agreed so quickly.

 **"Very well! Fight with Valor!"** He yelled, crouching into a stance, readying himself to fight.

Alim immediately conjured a sword made entirely of spirit energy in his left hand, a Knight Enchanter's go-to offensive spell. He could see the approval and excitement in Valor's eyes. Alim rushed forward, swinging his sword in swift swings he had all but perfected in his duels against Cullen.

With his sword in his left hand, and right hand (which would normally be wielding a staff) free to throw magic spells, Knight Enchanters like himself were a force to be reckoned with, something that became evident in his dual with the spirit of Valor. He parried the spirit's sword and blew the shield away with an Arcane Bolt and struck Valor's breastplate with his palm, following up the seemingly useless martial art attack with a wave of lightning that sent Valor back a few feet with a yell.

 **"Ah yes! I have faced your kind before, magic knight. They have always proved themselves worthy and formidable adversaries, and you do not disappoint, though you still have a long way to go yet."** Valor said, complimenting his abilities but noting his flaws with constructive criticism.

"I thank you Valor, I shall act on your advice and endeavor to be greater in the future." Alim answered, his tone even and confidant. "You are a most worthy adversary yourself, may we meet again in the future."

 **"A fine attitude to have, warrior."** Valor stated as he rushed forward again. Alim answered his thrust with a parry, and as the sword came in again from his right he conjured an Arcane Shield and struck with his own spirit sword, but Valor blocked it with his shield, only for the spirit energy to lose it's blade form and become a blast that exploded out at the spirit warrior.

Taken by surprise at the sudden turn, he could do nothing but be repulsed and knocked into the air, regaining his bearings he gracefully flipped in midair and landed near one of the weapon racks.

 **"Enough, I am satisfied."** Valor said, sheathing his weapons and reaching into the nearest pile to grab a beautiful staff, which he tossed to Alim, who leaned slightly on it, winded from the battle. **"May you find success in all your accomplishments, Mortal."** The spirit gave a salute to Alim before turning away.

"Thank you Valor." Alim said.

"That was incredible Alim!" Mouse cried as they met at the bottom of the hill. "You're the first apprentice I've seen who was able to hit Valor hard enough to impress him, and I've never seen anything like that energy blade before!"

"I thought you didn't remember anything from before." Alim said as he idly destroyed a spirit wolf that was rushing towards him.

"I… don't." Mouse said slowly "But I'm sure that I would recall something as incredible as that. Apprentices usually don't have that kind of control."

"I've always had a close affinity with blades and the more combat oriented spells." Alim said, and then changed the subject. "So, Mouse, why did you take the form you did?"

"Well, after the templars killed me, I was left all alone in the Fade." Mouse said bitterly. "I was scared, and so I hid from everything. Eventually, I took the form of a mouse, so that I could hide more effectively. Finally, the mouse in me swamped the human, and I became Mouse. That's the way that the Fade works."

"Interesting." Alim said thoughtfully. The two continued on in silence for a while, passing through the strange and undulating forest as Alim burned, cut apart, electrocuted or froze any hostile beings that approached.

He had to keep his spells versatile, and never use the same spell twice. Lest his enemies find a pattern in his fighting style and use it to their advantage.

Suddenly, Mouse stopped short.

"There is a demon nearby. Not the one hunting you, but still… we should be careful." Alim nodded, and slowly moved around a completely arbitrary cliff face into a small clearing. At first, nothing stuck out, but then the companions realized that the odd pile of thorns off to one side was breathing.

With a subtle hand gesture, he stretch and expanded the barrier separating Mouse from him around himself until it protected him from attacks on all sides.

It looked like a bear, if one accepted that bears had rotting reddish skin with the odd patch of fur here and there with spikes sticking out. The creature was also massive, easily taller at it's shoulders than Alim himself. Its steady breathing indicated that it was asleep.

"It's a Sloth demon. Let us sneak by quietly," Mouse whispered, and he agreed, Sloth was relatively high on the hierarchy, the two slowly started to pass the demon.

 **"So, you are the mortal being hunted?"** a slovenly voice rumbled through the clearing as two small, bloodshot eyes opened. Alim halted immediately as Mouse scampered behind him. **"I might have been inclined to devour you myself, but that would take… too much effort.** "

"Wonderful, he isn't interested in us. Let's get moving before he changes his mind" Mouse hissed, but Alim was struck with a crazy idea.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind speaking with you for a moment."

 **"Hmm. I don't particularly want to talk, but stopping you would require even more effort."** Sloth murmured, his eyes switching from Mouse to Alim. **"Speak, then. I may answer."**

"Do you know why I'm here?" Alim asked, and the demon slowly nodded. "If you could offer any help, I would be very grateful."

 **"You have a very nice staff, mortal. What could you possible need from me?"** the demon yawned, his eyes drooping. **"If that is all, go on and fight your demon. Be… valorous."**

"He looks powerful." Mouse said quietly, transforming back to his human form. "It's possible that he could teach you to… be like him."

 **"Like me? No."** Sloth rumbled, sounding mildly amused. **"Mortals are far to attached to their forms to learn to change."** His eyes switched to Mouse **"You, on the other hand, have already abandoned your mortal body years ago. I could teach you."**

"I wouldn't make a very good bear. How would I hide?"

"Hiding doesn't solve anything, Mouse" Alim said. "We have to face the world if we are to change it."

"Who said I wanted to change the world?" Mouse hissed furiously. "I have seen more in this Maker-forsaken place than you could possibly imagine!" He shouted at the mage hopeful, but backed up, slightly intimidated at the composed look on the elf's face and took a deep breath, then slowly continued "but, through all that, I haven't done anything. I have existed, but not lived. I guess your right, actually. Perhaps it is time to change. I'll try to be a bear." Mouse moved forward to stand beside Alim.

 **"That's nice"** the demon huffed. **"But I never said that I would actually do anything."**

"Wha… I knew he wouldn't help us," Mouse groaned in frustration.

"You can't suggest something and then decide that you won't do it!" Alim snarled.

 **"I can't?"** Sloth asked in amusement. **"You have so much to learn about the Fade, little mortal."**

"Mouse is willing to learn, teach him." Alim demanded with a look in his eyes that visibly frightened the Sloth Demon, and not so visibly frightened his ally of circumstance.

" **Hmm, it seems I have become mildly interested in this whole affair. Let us make a deal, little mortal. If you can answer my three riddles, I will teach your friend. If you cannot, I will devour you both. What say you?"**

"Very well, Sloth. I am rather fond of riddle games." The demon slowly rose to his feet, his eyes fixed avidly on Alim.

 **"My first riddle, is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with without sand. Towns with no people, mountains without land. What am I?"** Alim stared at Sloth for a few moments, and Mouse started backing up very slowly. Grabbing his companion's arm, Alim answered: "You are a map."

**"Hmm, correct. Let's move on. My second riddle is this: I am seldom touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?"**

Alim's thoughts drifted back to a distant memory, and he answered with a sad smile, "tongue."

 **"Yes, your witty tongue."** Sloth grumbled. **"One more try: Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve. But alas, you won't remember me. What am I?"**

"A dream." Alim answered promptly. "Very clever, I could think of three answers to that one. But with that specific wording, only one was the case" the Sloth demon preened under the praise, then sighed.

**"You are correct. Rather apropos here in the Fade, no? But you've won my challenge and proven yourself an amusing distraction. Now, I shall teach your friend. To begin, you must…"**

* * *

"Like this? Am I a bear? It feels, heavy" Mouse wondered aloud as he shuffled around in his new body. Black furred, about two thirds of Alim's height, it had taken a mere fifteen minutes for him to grasp. Fifteen minutes that had felt like an eternity to Alim, who remembered Mouse's dire warnings. How long did he have until Greagoir lost patience and decided to have him killed? Would Irving try to intervene, or just stand aside, reasoning that he had other apprentices to throw into the flames?

He could only hope that his grandfather figure would give him as long as necessary. That and silently reinforce the shield surrounding him in a full circle now.

 **"Hmm, close enough."** Sloth said, laying down and turning back to Alim. **"Go then and defeat your demon. It's that way"** gesturing one of the paths out of the clearing **"Now, leave me be. I grow weary of your prattling."**

"Thank you, Ser Sloth." Alim said, walking off, followed by the now-large Mouse. The two walked in silence, easily defeating a group of spirit wolves.

"Should I start calling you Bear now?" Alim jested.

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Mouse grumbled, his voice slightly deeper through the bear form. "Are you sure you want to face the demon now? I could point you to another spirit…"

"No, I'm pretty sure I can do this." Alim said. "A few quick questions, though. What is the demon like?"

"It's a rage demon, lowest on the hierarchy but still powerful." Mouse said, his bear-face scrunched up. "It manifests in an "arena" just over that way, and has a fiery form. It also generally has a few wisps in attendance. Did I mention that it was strong?" He said, his voice wavering a bit on the last part

"Yes, Mouse, but so are we." Alim patted his 'friend' reassuringly. He figured that Mouse or Bear might be some demon in disguise, trying to get on his good side. He figured that the best thing to do here was to do the same himself, hopefully his own betrayal against it if he was indeed a demon should make it hesitate long enough for him to kill it.

"But..." He started, but Alim cut him off with a look, "I have a plan" Alim whispered as the two entered the arena.

In the middle, cracks appeared in the ground, fire emanating from them. Then, a hand made of lava rose up, grabbing the ground. Another joined it, which then pulled the full body of the demon out of the ground. About Alim's height, it was indeed made entirely of flame and lava, and had no facial structure except for two hate-filled glowing eyes.

 **"And so it comes to me at last"** Rage's voice echoed. **"Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You will be mine, body and soul."** It said with a sweeping hand gesture.

"Why don't you come over here and prove that, demon!" Alim hissed, his magic flaring up at his command. The demon emanated an aura of condescending superiority, his own energies becoming noticeably more potent, challenging the vile aura of the demon.

 **"Oh, I shall."** Then, surprisingly, he turned to Mouse, who had transformed and moved to stand beside Alim. **"So, this creature is your offering, Mouse, as per our arrangement."** Alim turned in surprise towards his companion, who was covering his face. _'So my suspicions were true, at least partially.'_ If the bear turned on him, there was no way that he could defeat the traitor as well as the demon and wisps that were now moving to surround him.

Well, he could, but it would no doubt be much more difficult a task.

"We don't have an arrangement! Not anymore!" Mouse cried, his eyes blazing as he raised his head. While the demons face could not show any emotion, his next words made up for it.

 **"So, after all the wonderful meals we shared,"** he said in a voice that didn't even try to hide his simmering fury, **"now suddenly the mouse is changing the rules."**

 _'Shared...'_ "I'm not a mouse anymore." Mouse said proudly. "And soon I won't have to hide. I don't need to bargain with you."

 **"We shall see"** the demon hissed, and then everything started happening at once.

"Distract it!" Alim cried, immediately blasting one wisp before turning to engage the ones behind him, his now visible spherical magic barrier rippling as his spell passed through it. Mouse complied, shifting into his bear form and charging Rage, who responded by engulfing him with a jet of fire.

The five wisps Alim faced might have been a threat, but made the mistake of clumping a little to closely. One virulent walking bomb spell eliminated the three instantly, and then Alim conjured a whip of arcane energy to take down another, and he then split the whip down the middle into a two-pronged whip to strike down the remaining two. He then turned to help Mouse, who simply could not get close enough to Rage to attack.

"Pull back, Mouse, you've done your part." Alim shouted, and the bear gratefully complied, rolling to put out some of his flaming fur. The demon turned to face Alim instead.

 **"Foolish creature, I am a Demon of Wrath. Those pests were just a distraction, surrender and I will make your death quick and painful."** It said malevolently.

Alim scoffed, then summoned a sword of ice magic and coated his staff in the same, making it into a spear.

Saying nothing in response to the demon's taunts, Alim raised his staff and cast an ice spell, a bluish mist formed around the demon, and it roared in pain as ice gripped it. The demon's molten skin hardened into volcanic earth before falling off. The demon charged Alim, unable to use its powers through the haze of pain and ice. Alim gripped his staff/spear and slammed the blunt end into the ground, causing a thin coat of ice to spread over the ground, the demon to thrash as blades of ice rose from the ground, impaling it. Simultaneously, he cast a freeze spell on the air around him, causing all the heat was sucked from the area, freezing the demon in place.

Alim calmly approached the slowly hardening lava monster, placing his icy blade's tip between the demon's dimming eyes. "Goodbye, Rage. You were an utterly uninteresting foe." Alim taunted as he stabbed it forward and squeezed the hilt of the blade in an iron grip, cracking and destabilized the ice making up the outer coating of the blade, releasing the energy within into the fiery body. The demon rapidly hardened into a mass of black brittle earth before exploding into death.

"You did it!" Mouse cheered, as he transformed back to human form. "I was worried there, but I should have known an apprentice of your potential would have a surprise up their sleeve!"

"I noticed that the demon mentioned other "meals" before. Who were those unfortunate apprentices you deemed unworthy to live... Mouse?" Alim asked quietly, glaring at the cowardly creature with eyes that simmered with suspicion and hate. He had not put away his staff or dispelled the barrier, only strengthened it further until it was crackling with energy.

"What? They were not as promising as you. They wouldn't have survived anyways. I… don't even remember their names. I don't even remember my own name. It's the Fade, and the Templars killing me, like they were going to with you." Mouse said hurriedly, backing up a little.

 _'Like an animal'_ Alim thought in disgust, _'or worse'_ but let it go for the moment. "So what is it that you want from me then, turncoat?"

"You've completed your test. Someday, you will be a master enchanter without equal. And there is hope in that for someone as small and… forgotten as me."

 _'There is no thing as a master enchanter.'_ Alim thought to himself, as the hierarchy only consisted of six tiers; those tiers being apprentice, mage, enchanter, junior enchanter, senior enchanter, first enchanter and grand enchanter.

"…What are you getting at?" Alim asked slowly. Mouse's face had adopted a calculating look.

"There may be a way for me to get a foothold outside. You just have to want to… let me in." Mouse said hopefully, but there was something… else.

Alim's blood chilled, _'so it was exactly as I had thought'_. "The other demon wasn't my real test, was it?" he asked quietly, suddenly figuring out why Mouse was not wearing apprentice robes, but Senior Enchanter garments. He did not change his appearance to make himself seem more intimidating, undoubtedly the denizens of the fade would not be able to distinguish the differences between robes, he wore the wrong robes simply because he did not know any better.

"What? What else here could harm an apprentice of your potential?" Mouse asked, trying to sound offended. Alim simply glared at him, bringing his staff up again. Finally, Mouse smirked. "Oh, you are a smart one, aren't you?" His expression then changed to an ugly leer.

"Smart enough to see through you, demon" Alim said, backing away and summoning another spirit sword.

 **"Simple killing is a warrior job."** Mouse said, his voice deepening threateningly. **"The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust... Pride."** His body glowed again, and then rose upwards. Alim then understood. Mouse was a Pride Demon, the most dangerous creatures in the Fade. With a flash, the powerful monster vanished. **"Keep your wits about you, mage,"** its voice lingered as the world went white.

**"True tests, never end."**


	3. Bound in Blood and Magic Part 1: Love

Jowan moaned as he dragged himself back into the waking world. It took him a moment to realize what had woke him; the sound of armor clinking and quiet murmurs from his templar guards.

Pretending to be asleep, he did his best to listen in as they spoke quietly among themselves. The guards weren't exactly kind to their mage prisoners, some of them taking a liking to waking them from sleep just to annoy them, knowing they could do nothing in return. If they did, they were usually labeled abomination.

"One of the best Harrowings I've ever seen, saw through that last trap almost instantly." Jowan almost jerked up at those words.

Harrowing!

Someone had gone through their Harrowing! "Maybe the Knight Commander has been wrong about this one, he doesn't really seem all that unstable to me."

"Yeah, and that display of swordsmanship in there. Maybe I could probably get in some good practice, you think?" the templar carrying the mage by his shoulders said.

 _'Swordsmanship? He did it!'_ Jowan thought fiercely, immensely proud of his friend. He was the only one they could be referring to after all, Alim was the only apprentice in this generation with the power and control required to be a Knight Enchanter, and therefor have any want or need to display swordsmanship.

He wouldn't have to say goodbye to another friend, not this time. He smiled at the thought, Alim was a brother to him after all.

The templars lay Alim down on his bed, then left as quietly as their armor would allow. Jowan opened his eyes fully, trying to get a better look at Alim. He didn't look that bad, and the Templar said that he had done well. So the harrowing wan't any kind of physical test or battle, he guessed judging from Alim's unmarred visage, pristine robes and immaculate braid.

Glancing up at the light beginning to stream through the window adjacent to his bunk, Jowan started to get ready for the day; it would not be long before the wake up call would go off. If Alim was like the previous survivors, he wouldn't be awake for a few hours yet.

* * *

**'True tests, never end'**

Alim jerked up, panting, the final warning of the pride demon echoing tauntingly in his mind. He looked around, expecting the demon to be coming for him. But, no, he was back in the apprentice barracks. He closed his eyes and lay back, groaning.

 _'I don't get it,'_ Alim thought. _'I was just asleep, so why do I feel so tired. What that demon said, I get the feeling that I'll be meeting him again.'_ His eyes narrowed _'I don't look forward to it. Pride demons are extremely powerful and cunning.'_

"Are you all right? Say something, please…" He heard Jowan say, knocking him out of his inner monologue.

Alim opened his eyes to see that Jowan's face was right in front of his own as he sat up in his bunk. "Jowan?" Alim asks (despite knowing exactly who it was) more because speaking out loud felt like it would ground him in reality than any confusion he might have had.

"I'm glad you're all right. The templars carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night. I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?" Jowan asked almost too quickly for him to catch considering he was still slightly disoriented.

"It was... harrowing" he smirked slightly when Jowan rolled his eyes in irritation. "Is that why they don't tell us what it's about?" he asked eagerly, "I know I'm not supposed to ask, but just a little hint, then I'll stop asking, I promise." His voice had taken on that disarming pleading tone which he only used when he was truly desperate, taking Alim off his guard.

 _'Why is Jowan pushing the issue so desperately?'_ he wondered, Jowan was a talented mage (in his own right), he was nowhere near as talented as Alim, but then again, few others were. This was not arrogance speaking, it was cold hard fact. Knight Enchanters were expected to be extremely talented in all four schools of magic as well as discipline and control of a templar in order to gain the control necessary to even begin to learn to be one.

Jowan was by no means the most talented mage in Thedas, or even the most powerful, but he was by no means weak. He had above average talent in Entropy magic, and smaller amounts of talent in Spirit and Primal.

"We're friends Jowan. But please don't ask me this, you know I can't tell you." He said to his friend guiltily, as much as it pained him to keep secrets from his friend, he was a loyal mage of the Circle, and giving away knowledge that was forbidden to apprentices wasn't something he was going to do.

"Huh, so much for friendship, I'll leave you alone then." Jowan said in response, obviously trying to guilt him into losing his composure and spilling the secret. Alim said nothing as he slid out of his bed and went through his morning exercises. "And now you get to move to the nice mages quarters upstairs. I'm stuck here and I don't know when they'll call me for my Harrowing." Jowan whined, moving out of Alim's way. "Don't worry so much about it, I'm sure they'll call you for yours soon enough." Alim finished his routine and shook his limbs, feeling nice and limber.

"Easy for you to say. I've been here longer than you have… sometimes I think they just don't want to test me." Jowan pouted at Alim who looked up at him, eyebrow quirked. "What are you talking about Jowan? Why wouldn't you be tested?" "The Tranquil never go through a Harrowing. You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility… or you die. That's what happens." Jowan explained as though Alim didn't already know this, but what bothered him was the look in his eyes, it was almost as if he didn't see the Harrowing as an option.

"What does this have to do with you?" Alim asked warily, standing in the doorway of the apprentice barracks. "If… if they don't call apprentices to the Harrowing, it probably means… tranquility. You've seen Tranquil around the tower. Like Owain, who runs the stockroom? He's so cold. No, not even cold. There's just… nothing in him. It's like he's dead, but still walking. His voice, his eyes are lifeless…" Jowan shivered, the Tranquil unnerved everyone at times. "Owain volunteered though, you know that. He felt he was too weak for the Harrowing and... there was nothing anyone could have done."

"Yes I know but... I don't know how they do it exactly, but you're cut off from the Fade. It takes away your magic abilities, along with your dreams," Jowan hesitated as he reached the worst part, "and emotions." Alim rolled his eyes at Jowan's textbook definition of the tranquil, those were Senior Enchanter Ivan's exact words from their first class with him.

"You speak as though I don't already know all of this, Jowan." Alim frowned, he didn't like to think about the Tranquil, mostly because he may not let it show but they did actually unnerve him at times. "Apprentices can ask to be made tranquil if they fear the Harrowing. But the Circle also forces Tranquility on those they feel are weak. And sometimes they force it on Apprentices they think might be too… dangerous as mages." Alim raised his eyebrow at his friend at all these obvious statements that even the slowest mage would know, it was almost as if...

"I shouldn't waste your time with this. I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up." Jowan swiftly changed the conversation as he remembered his orders from earlier (and the fact that he noticed Alim's suspicious look didn't have anything to do with it at all), and Alim relented, preferring not to think further along his previous train of thought.

"Master Irving? What for?" Alim asks, it wasn't often that Irving would ask to see him outside of a prearranged time, normally though Alim just showed up. "He didn't tell me. About the Harrowing, I'd guess, but you never know with Irving. You'd better not keep him waiting. We can speak later." Jowan walked away in a hurry, and again Alim had to bury his suspicions.

Once again, Alim wandered his way up through the tower. Somehow, even though he had walked these halls for years, it seemed different now that he was a full-fledged mage rather than an apprentice. The halls seemed... he didn't quite know how to describe the feeling, but it felt like an old friend he'd be leaving behind... but not quite to that extent as he knew he'd still be coming down here often enough as a teacher.

He entered the spacious library, listening with amusement to William trying and failing to control a magical fire. The younger mage was not bad at magic, just lacking in self-confidence. His nervousness allowing for his spells to escape his control and get the better of him. It was amusing to watch his telekinesis training backfire on him and... at least until he'd have to get him down from the chandeliers and explain to the templars why they shouldn't kill the poor boy.

For most mages one of the four schools of magic came relatively easily to them, while the others were a constant struggle. Alim himself was exceptionally proficient in all four schools.

Primal was the magic of the elements. Energy was bent into fire, wind, water (or ice, since it was solid and therefor easier to control), stone and lightning. The best known school; it was considered the easiest. While it was true that almost any mage could do it, there were not many who could use it with finesse and skill since it was the hardest to control.

Creation on the other hand, had more peaceful applications and required an extremely high level of control. Abilities like healing stemmed from this school, as well as defensive glyphs and strengthening and energizing auras. Masters of Creation were also the most likely to be allowed outside the tower to be used by cities and armies.

Spirit; the magic pulled directly from the Fade was the least common branch, and thus was sometimes mistaken as being forbidden by the ignorant. It was the most subtle of the schools, it didn't require that the energy be transformed into an element or augment the body, rather it taught the user to affect the world with the energy itself, such as using telekinesis to lift objects as directed by the mind.

Entropy was the nastiest legal branch of magic, designed for the sole purpose of debilitation. It could cause bouts of terrible fear to take hold of the mind, put targets to sleep, or a combination of the two previous spells to cause the target to suffer terrible nightmares, it could create auras to absorb the life-force or mana from the air around them or any living being who gets caught up in the aura.

A little further into the library, some of the youngest apprentices (ten and below) were getting a lecture from a loyalist mage about the templars favorite mantra.

_'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.'_

This passage of the Chant of Light was the whole reason for the existence of the various Circles in Thedas. It was what gave the Chantry the right to run the lives of mages all over the world. Alim found it incredibly ironic that the Chantry's own doctrine was what they saw as making them legal overlords, rather like the way that the laws made solely by the human nobility were used to oppress the elves. He sometimes wondered if the Chantry ever stopped to consider the irony that in an effort to escape slavery under the magisters of Tevinter, they in turn enslaved the mages of all of Thedas.

 _'Probably, it's their whole bloody plan, right?'_ he thought bitterly.

Alim knew why the laws had come to pass, of coarse.

In ancient times, the Tevinter Imperium had ruled almost all of Thedas. It had been run, in turn, by the Magisters, powerful blood mages who's cruelty had caused a great deal of suffering. That much was known fact, but the Chantry accused them of much more. It claimed that the Magisterium's arrogance was so great, that they had forced their way physically into the Fade, and sought to take the throne of the Maker.

They were rebuffed, "twisted and cursed by their own corruption" and had become the monstrous darkspawn. To further damn their memories, the Magisters assault on the Golden City is said to have caused the Maker to turn his back on the world, leading to the current sorry state of affairs.

Once, a few weeks after Alim had first arrived at the Tower, he had asked why the current generation of mages were still being punished for the crimes committed by those who had died long ago. The answer the class had been given was, of coarse, that their being taken from their families and exiled to the Tower was not actually a punishment, but a way to defend them from those out in the world who feared their power.

He had gone on to ask why the apostates, those that managed to live outside of the Circle peacefully were hunted. If they were capable of making it in the outside world without hurting anyone, then why should they be bothered? The loyalist, the same one who was lecturing these children before him, who had been giving the lecture had answered by talking about maleficarum, and how they were a threat to everything, and cursed by the Maker. In so doing, she had conveniently ignored the bit about how the apostates were not hurting anyone.

But this realization only actually came to him in hindsight, that loyalist's words had him entirely convinced, at the time, that apostates and maleficarum were one and the same.

Alim, wrapped up in these thoughts, only realized that he was nearing Irving's office when he heard the First Enchanter and Knight Commander arguing about something through the open door. Glancing in, he saw them, as well as a man he didn't know.

About fifty years old, give or take, the newcomer had dark salt and pepper hair slicked back into short tail and a wild looking but neatly trimmed beard. He had dark skin, only a shade darker than Alim's own, obviously denoting a Rivaini descent. His armor, unlike Greagoir's almost ceremonial suit, looked like it had seen a great deal of action, but wasn't of any uniform he recognized. It strongly resembled the Rivaini knight uniform he had seen in a history book, with some personal accents thrown in. He wore a unique hand-and-a-half sword known as Edge of Song and Glory, an heirloom of sorts, passed down the line of Ferelden Gray Warden Commanders since the second blight, strapped to the right side of his waist, and a shortsword built to match the longer sword in design was strapped just underneath Edge,and last was a matching dagger strapped the opposite side.

But the thing that caught Alim's attention the most, as cliche as it was, were his eyes. They were a bright amber, but somehow seemed darker, strained. As though they had seen even more of the world than his age would indicate. Despite this, however, they seemed calm, at peace. The man glanced up from the argument and noticed Alim, but did not immediately comment.

"Many have already gone to Ostagar, Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages. We've committed enough of our own to this war effort " Greagoir was saying furiously. _'War? Who are we at war against that would require so many mages to be let out of the tower?'_ Alim puzzled to himself, as even one senior enchanter was worth almost a dozen regular foot soldiers. The circumstances here must be dire indeed, and considering that a Gray Warden Commander of all things came personally, there was only one logical assumption.

 _'I desperately hope I'm wrong about this'_ he thought to himself as a shiver ran down his spine.

"Your own?" Irving retaliated in wry amusement as he crossed his arms "since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? I think it good that we are occasionally actually allowed to use our Maker given powers."

"How dare you suggest-" Greagoir started dangerously, before being interrupted by the unknown man, who had perhaps sensed that the argument was about to dissolve into an actual fight.

Needless to say, a fight between the two strongest individuals in the tower was not the most welcome of developments.

"Gentlemen, please." He had a rich voice, with a commanding, no-nonsense tone. Surprisingly, he was actually able to get the quarrelers' attention, something that caused Alim's opinion of him to go up a few notches. "Irving, someone is here to see you," he continued. Irving turned to Alim, having just realized he was there.

Irving chuckled softly, honestly surprised that he was still able to get so caught up within his disagreements with Graegoir that he could lose focus of all else.

"You sent for me, First Enchanter?" Alim asked, stepping farther into the room.

"Ah, if it isn't our newest brother in the Circle. Come in, young Alim," Irving said warmly, all traces of his argument with Greagoir fading from his face at the sight of his apprentice. The Warden Commander stepped forward to stand beside Irving, still studying Alim intensely.

"This is?" he asked, "yes, this is he" Irving confirmed. Alim wondered what Irving had told this man about him. Nothing bad, hopefully. Greagoir's eyes narrowed, despite having proved his worth he was still distrustful of the young elf.

"Well, Irving, you're obviously busy. We will continue this discussion later." Greagoir said, striding past them toward the door. Alim stepped out of the way, meeting the Knight Commander's eyes for a moment. Greagoir gave him a look, warning him to tread lightly, before continuing on his way.

"Of course." Irving answered, either not noticing the byplay or, more likely, dismissing it as irrelevant. "Well, where was I? Oh, yes. This is Duncan, leader of the Grey Wardens."

"A Grey Warden, here?" Alim said, his eyebrows shooting up. The Grey Wardens were a widely respected group of warriors, who's duty was to fight the darkspawn. Little was known about them other than this, but they were almost universally trusted even in Ferelden, where until twenty-some years ago, they had been exiled.

"Grey Wardens go wherever duty sends them." Duncan said seriously.

"You've heard about the darkspawn threat rising in the south, haven't you?" Irving asked. Alim nodded, having heard some rumors about a large incursion in the Korcari Wilds, which was the southernmost reach of Ferelden, just north of the uncharted lands, rumored to be home to hedge witches. "Duncan here has come to recruit mages for the Kings army at Ostagar."

He straitened his back at that, he would gladly go to war if he was summoned. He was a patriot after all, and the aequitarian beliefs were deeply ingrained in him after so long as Master Irving's apprentice.

"It is essential that we drive the hoard back in the south." Duncan said. "If we can not, then Ferelden may face another Blight." His purple eyes widened slightly at that and he instantly went silent, he was genuinely beginning to hate being right all the time.

Each of the past Blights had lasted decades, the exception being the first which had lasted almost two centuries. Each time it happened, tens to hundreds of thousands of people were killed.

Men, women, children... humans, elves, dwarves, or qunari, the darkspawn did not discriminate, they hated all of them equally.

"Duncan" Irving chided gently "Your worrying the poor boy with all this talk of darkspawn and Blights. He just passed his greatest challenge, today is a happy day for him." Alim wasn't comforted by Irving's words, but he appreciated the intent.

"These are troubled times, my friend." Duncan said quietly.

"We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times." Irving responded equally softly, before turning back to Alim. "The Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are now officially a mage within the Circle of Magi."

"Thank you, First Enchanter." Alim said, bowing.

"I'm sorry," Duncan interjected, "but what is this phylactery?"

"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower, and is preserved in special vials." Irving started, trying to shut Alim out of the conversation, but the younger man simply wasn't content with just sitting on the sidelines during such an important and grim topic.

"Should a mage ever leave the tower" Alim continued, "the templars are able to use the blood to find them." It sounded awfully like blood magic to him, but with all the other borderline hypocritical things the templars did, what was one more to add to the list?

"We have few choices" Irving said warning him to be quiet, and Alim took the hint and kept quiet. "The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove that we are strong enough to handle our powers responsibly." He turned back to Alim, smiling. "You have done this. I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring identifying you as a full member of the Circle," he said, handing the aforementioned items to Alim. "Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."

"Thank you, First Enchanter" he said with a smile filled with pride. Pride that he had to thereafter push down into the recesses of his mind. He was still far too shaken up by the Pride Demon's last message to him to allow himself to be overcome by any emotion, let alone pride.

He took his new acquisitions from Irving's outstretched hands. The exquisite folded blue and gold robes with many pockets hidden in their folds for potion bottles and other items he draped over his left arm to change into later, the gleaming lyrium-infused silver ring with the beautifully engraved dragon on the face he slipped onto the middle finger of his left hand, and the steel acolyte's staff he carried in his right hand to use as a walking stick as all mages did.

"Please, take the time to rest, or study, whatever you wish to do. The day is yours." Alim nodded, bowed slightly to Duncan, and turned towards the door. He would probably start by gathering his few belongings from his chest in the apprentice barracks and bringing them up to his new room in the the mages quarters.

"If our business is concluded, I would like to return to my quarters for the moment" Duncan said behind him.

"Oh, and Alim," Irving called, and Alim turned back around. "Would you be kind enough to escort Duncan back to his quarters? I'm certain he will appreciate a little company."

"Of course, First Enchanter," Alim answered. It would be nice to talk to someone from outside the tower for a while. "And where are you staying, Ser Duncan?"

"On the other side of the tower on this floor," Duncan said as he fell into step beside Alim. "And you may simply address me as Duncan, I am no knight."

"On the contrary ser, you were able to prevent the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander's argument from becoming an actual fight, as well as stop the argument itself. I honestly never thought I'd see the day where anyone besides Senior Enchanter Whynne could boast that particular accomplishment" Alim said with a chuckle, but only partially joking.

Duncan nodded, smiling slightly. He had dealt with those two often enough in the past to know that there was a great deal of tension in their dealings, despite there being mutual respect underneath. He had met Whynne as well, and knew firsthand that despite her mild mannered and wise exterior, she was a very stern and... frightening individual.

"What's happening outside the tower, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked, as curious about the outside world as would be expected of a newly harrowed mage, if not more so.

"Ah… I don't imagine you leave very often, do you?" There was no pity for him in his voice, which he'd already guessed would only vex him.

"We are permitted to walk the grounds," he muttered, blowing a sigh through his lips as his eyes misted over, wistful over imaginary landscapes and great cities and forests and grasslands which he'd only been allowed to read about.

"And thus a good view of the other side of the lake?" Duncan did not mock him, but his matter of fact question baited his attention sharply back. There were those, like Alistair, who anyone could read by spending a few minutes with them. Daveth's easy, broad sense of mischief but ultimate loyalty to whoever earned it and Ser Jory's pensive obligation to duty but his naive arrogance from always getting whatever he wanted handed to him were unfurled scrolls. The mage in front of him seemed to be lacking in self confidence, but kept his cards closer to his chest.

He might not see it in himself, but if he was put into the group of recruits he'd just mentally named, he had a notion he'd be the one to lead them; mage or no, elf or no.

These were things Duncan did not mention, however. He'd not yet obtained the permission he'd come to the Circle to get. "It must feel rather isolated, all the way out here, with a lake in between you and the rest of the world" he continued conversationally. "I, however, am not a good source of news I fear. I am preoccupied with the darkspawn incursion." As he'd thought it might, that tantalized the lad with more questions.

Information about his Order and mysterious enemies of legend were more interesting than the tower, and seemed more pressing at the same time. Irving had wrangled the conversation out of their hands earlier, insisting it be turned to more upbeat things. Pleasant or not, Alim wondered who had a better clutch on reality, his mentor, or the stranger?

In one hand, he knew Irving to be a gentle, kind, balanced man who did his best through passive stubbornness to help his charges. On the other, he didn't know Duncan, but in knowing the ways of the First Enchanter, he might not be as canny to dangers in the outside world as maybe he should. "Can you tell me more about the Grey Wardens and the darkspawn?" He wanted to make the decision of danger for himself, if he could, and that meant asking.

"Certainly." Irving was correct about the young man it seemed, and he'd already planted a seed in him which he was sure would grow. "I am intimately familiar with these subjects after all."

Drumming his fingers absently against the staff in his right hand, he tried to piece together what little he could remember of the past Blights. Considering the last one happened some four centuries or more ago, there wasn't much coming to his mental call. "About that horde in the Korcari Wilds," he recalled the name. "Have there been many darkspawn attacks?"

His tone had become deadly serious as he watched him begin give up wistful dreams for real threats. "If they are not stopped, they will strike north into the valley. We Grey Wardens believe there is an archdemon leading the horde."

The new term Duncan introduced didn't slip by and Alim pounced on it, hungry for more. "Archdemon?" He'd never heard of such a creature in all his studies and contact with the Fade.

"Darkspawn do attack the surface in ragtag bands, but archdemons are capable of rallying the darkspawn, turning them into an unstoppable force. A horde of darkspawn … a veritable army. It is dire news indeed. I fear this is what we will have to face." Duncan said, making Alim shiver.

"Is it truly a demon?" He'd read many different bestiaries and dossiers of the creatures of Thedas and the spirits of the fade, and considering his recent Harrowing, he was that much more curious. "Or some sort of of powerful Abomination? Or is that just what people call it?" The term 'demon' literally meant one of the more malevolent denizens of the Fade, but as Sloth had recently reminded, it was only a word. When people didn't understand something, it could become a convenient tag used to identify some other strange creature.

He decided to explain his question further when he saw Duncan quirk his eyebrow. "You said it has the power to pull the darkspawn together in a horde, but if it's a Fade creature, how does it have so much effect in the material world? Did it possess something?"

"I do not know the answers to all of those questions," Duncan told her evenly, almost beginning to lose patience with him... almost.

"We believe the archdemon is one of the old gods of Tevinter, which the darkspawn continually tunnel beneath ground to find." It was a process he'd personally witnessed while even younger than this young elf, when he was almost newly made a Warden at 17. The Architect hadn't been heard of since, but Maric had not been lead false. A Blight was coming, and if the Architect had vanished or not, it had to be stopped. "But whether it is simply a dragon which a powerful demon has possessed and corrupted or something else, we do not know."

That statement in itself raised a whole line of questions in his mind, but seeing as they were nearing Duncan's sleeping quarters, he relented and asked the next question in mind "are the Grey Wardens an army?"

"We are too few," he said gravely, almost as if he thought it both a good and bad thing that more people were not Gray Wardens. "That is why we Grey Wardens require assistance from the king's armies and other sources."

Alim bit his lower lip pensively, but he believed him. Something about Duncan made him impossible to refute. Although he reminded him of an ice block floating in water where all you saw was the tip, he liked him. "That makes sense. So the king is mustering an army to beat back this threat?"

"Yes." His thirst for knowledge was almost palpable, and Duncan found that very interesting. "Perhaps it will be enough… if we play our cards right."

"I've heard of darkspawn sightings," he insisted tentatively, for that information was second hand and read about in books, "but an entire horde?" The very word 'horde' conjured up some very disturbing pictures in the back of his mind, each of them grimmer than the last. "There's really that many for the archdemon to call?"

"They usually move around in small groups," he agreed without affront, "but there are always more of them, lurking underground, biding their time."

Scrubbing his nose with his index finger, he turned his focus on his boots for a moment, his thoughts going rapidly one over the other before he met Duncan's eyes again. "I thought the darkspawn were destroyed in the last Blight?"

 _'If only that were so'_ , he thought almost wearily. "We can't seem to eradicate them completely." More was the pity, but there was so little known about their enemy. What had survived about their origins had been registered into Chantry lore, and how much truth was in it, he did not know. "Somehow, they always come back."

That certainly didn't sound pleasant, he mused silently, but his mind had already clicked over to something else. "Why were Irving and Greagoir arguing about the war?"

For the first time, he did not immediately answer him, wanting to test him, instead. "It is not my place to comment."

Because his tone was polite, if firm, he decided to meet it with equal civility to see if he'd reconsider. "Please? I'd like to know."

Alim didn't give up easily, and he had finesse. The Grey Wardens were renowned for anything from one time heroes astride soaring white griffons to a thin facade of the Order, maintained only to protect the worst of criminals. Desperate need bred requirements for many different skills, and although the griffons were extinct, he could certainly find use for a mage with a silver tongue. He gave him what he asked. "Greagoir serves the Chantry, and the relationship between the Chantry and mages has always been strained." A dire understatement, they both knew. "You've realized by now the Chantry merely tolerates magic? They watch only because they feel they must."

"Yes, I know," he agreed glumly. "I'm sure the Chantry would probably put us out like a snuffed candle if they could," he grumbled indignantly, "but they were arguing about the war?"

 _'Focused and stubborn. Good.'_ "Any mages who join the king's army can unleash their full power on the darkspawn. In fact, I'm counting on it. Greagoir may be afraid of what will happen. What if the mages decide they no longer want to be governed by the Chantry?" He waited to see what he would make of that, and his reply did not overly surprise him.

"What are your opinions on the matter?" he wanted to know instead of giving his own.

"I believe we must defeat the darkspawn one way or the other. My opinions end there." He closed the topic with a certain finality, having other ideas than drawing him into a debate about magic and the Chantry. Alim's reactions were more important to him than those concerns, all of which were trivial to him against the darkspawn incursions.

Recognizing he'd get nothing more out of the conversation along that path, he followed the meandering half-thought which had been percolating in the far most corners of his thoughts since he'd first seen him. "How many mages have joined the king's army?"

"When the king sent out the call, the Circle of Ferelden sent only seven mages to Ostagar. I asked king Cailan's permission to come and seek a greater commitment from the Circle."

Although he knew the Tower was not exactly Denerim as far as population went, that seemed like very few people compared to an entire army. Mages were powerful, of course (as powerful as he was, that was only because of his melee strength and skill, his knowledge and willpower, and vast variety of spells, power-wise he was actually not very far above others in his age group), but putting only that handful into hundreds of soldiers seemed about as foolish as trying to fill a bucket with an eye dropper. The Circle wouldn't see it that way however, and he knew it from how Greagoir had been carrying on. "Seven is quite a few."

 _'Now who is trying to learn about who?'_ Duncan thought with an inner chuckle. "I hope to place a mage or two in every contingent. I can not do with just seven. Mages will make all the difference in this battle." He hadn't any idea exactly how prophetic those words would come to be, albeit for different reasons than he would have thought. "The darkspawn have their own magic, and our resources must exceed theirs."

He paused, his mind floating over imagined terrors of bloodshed, battle, and worse – darkspawn who could wield magic as he could. Could he be brave enough? Would he make a difference if he was? A critical part of him had already made up its mind. "Do you think I could join the army?"

"I don't know," he countered pleasantly, "do you?"

There was another long, soul searching pause, because truly he did not know if he would ever have the courage. Fleeing, screaming like a coward off the battlefield would not just be undignified, it would also be treasonous. It could get him killed. No more Alim Surana, last of the Surana and Trialmont lines.

He'd have to find out first hand if one's soul really went through the Fade to the Maker once they died or not. It wasn't a particularly pleasant thought, but at the same time… What if that death happened because he was helping protect Ferelden and by extension all of Thedas? Wouldn't that be worth it? What if he had the pluck to actually stand his ground and do something good with his life and magic? Be the proof Thedas needed that mages could be forces of good in the world, not just forces of chaos to be feared. He could show the world that elves were a people to be respected, not just slaves or servants.

Maybe he could even be a spear head in giving the elves a new homeland, a new Arlathan, as it were.

"Yes," he told him finally. "I think I could help."

"Then perhaps I shall speak to Irving about this later." Their conversation had convinced him he'd found who he'd come seeking. Many of the communities put on great tournaments to show the mettle of the finest warriors, but he preferred to find his recruits in other places. The task was difficult enough as it was, but those like Daveth, Alistair, and now this young man were what he needed for the Grey Wardens beyond just skill with weapon and shield.

"Darkspawn are a greater threat than blood mages or even abominations. It takes decades for the world to recover from a Blight. I wish the Chantry could see that. We must stop at nothing to defeat the darkspawn – Ah listen to me," he interrupted himself, his features relaxing. "An old man's rantings can't be very interesting."

Alim had a very different thought about that, and was honest when he hastily told him. "I do not mind, I learned much from what you said." It was not mere politeness which made him say it, and Duncan didn't seem that old to him anyway.

Duncan chuckled softly. "You are too kind."

He was afraid, however, that he'd wear out his welcome and his tolerance.

He had promised to speak to the First Enchanter, so perhaps he would. He hoped so, although another small part of him insisted that if he didn't, at least he'd remain safe in the familiar environment, rather than risking life and limb on a far off battlefield. Then it would be out of his hands, wouldn't it? After all, he had tried. "I should take my leave now."

"Do not let me keep you," he told him affably, and watched him depart.

Duncan had given him so much to think about that his mind felt like a jar of bees bouncing off the inside of his skull.

Everything in his life since he was seven had been ordered and safe, even if it was dull and occasionally irritating. What if the darkspawn were truly the threat that Duncan had implied? Nowhere would be safe. Darkspawn descended upon a land like locusts and plague together, slaughtering, burning, and would not be satisfied until everything was exterminated. There was no mercy, surrender, or living under another empire until a rebellion could carry the oppressed back to freedom.

Losing against a Blight meant the end of elves, qunari, dwarves, and mankind as entire races. Nowhere would be sacred, not even the stone walls of the Tower. The thought made a chill sweat bead along the base of his neck and dampen his robes, in spite of the cool air circulating inside the edifice he called home.

Perhaps his subconscious was at the helm because he hadn't noticed where his feet had taken him until he realized he was standing in the doorway of his new quarters. Even though his belongings had not been brought up yet, he decided to change into his new robes.

Leaning his staff against the wall, he began stripping out of his robes. Not a difficult process, as it only consisted of three garments. A full length vestment that clung tightly to the torso and arms, but loosened at the waist to fall loosely around his ankles, a shawl that wrapped around his neck and fastened in the front and fell freely over his shoulders and upper arms and torso, and belt/long skirt-like garment that wrapped around the back of his waist and buckled in the front, leaving the long skirt open in the front.

He changed into his new robes with as much ease, as they were different only in embroidery. Enchantments too, but they weren't things that one would physically notice.

They were predominantly blue, and had a gold diamond-like pattern along the torso, and intricate gold patterns along the blue skirt, shawl, and blue designs along the hemlines of the gold vestment. Mage robes were different between elves and humans. Human robes were thicker and heavier, and a bit plain as it was more difficult to imbue such intricate embroidery in the thicker material. But the material of the elven robes were thinner and lighter, and the senior enchanters such as Whynne took every opportunity to imbue as much finery as they could in their guided cage.

Even the illusion of freedom was better than nothing at all.

Finished with his task, he set off downstairs to the apprentice barracks. He made his way down the stairs to the first floor and into his previous rooms, and proceeded to collect his trunk, as all of his things were in there. He chuckled as he heard some of the apprentices, mostly females and some males, comment on how handsome and distinguished he looked with his new robes and staff.

As a fellow apprentice he was always too short (he was the only male elf in his age group), looked like an old man with his hair, or a foreigner with his skin. But as a fully-fledged mage he was all the rage, it seemed, and all his previously unappealing traits were now sought after ones.

He did not mind the negative attention from before, and paid no attention to the new positive attention. He did blush though when he heard a comment on how his silver hair, dark skin, royal purple eyes, lavish robes and silver staff made him look like a fairy tail prince.

Alim suddenly felt the urge to bolt out of there, but kept to a walking pace, as running away blushing like a little boy would have been undignified.

When he made it back to his room, he set down his trunk and lied down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. He rested a hand on his forehead and chuckled at how quickly things changed.

 _'Fairy tail prince, huh?'_ He sat up in a meditation pose and fought down his blush, regained control of his emotions, and calmed his racing heart. Despite himself, being called a prince was greatly appealing to him. He even gave into his vanity and walked away in a dignified manner instead of making a fool of himself.

Once he was calm he stood up and decided to visit his favorite newly-appointed senior enchanter. He exited his room and made his way to the mage laboratory as he had heard that she was put in charge of the catacombs.

As he entered, he was warned by a nervous looking mage that Senior Enchanter Leorah was apparently in a bad mood. Leorah was an elven mage just a few years shy of being two decades his elder who was only recently promoted to senior enchanter. Undeterred, Alim went over to greet her.

He smiled at her nervous fidgeting form, facing away from him and toward the doors to the catacombs. Even just shy of forty years, she was still very beautiful. Her fully gray hair was pulled into a tight bun with her bangs hanging down and framing her face, her vibrant stormy gray eyes were lined with light tear troughs, and her long ears that would twitch or redden adorably when she was embarrassed.

Her lithe body was covered by her newly made formfitting red/pink senior enchanter robes, proudly showing off her curvy, but willowy elven body.

He had to shake his head to get rid of his more amorous thoughts as his eyes couldn't help but drift to her shapely rear. Leorah was the Circle Tower's foremost authority on elvish culture and language, and was his instructor in such. He absorbed her teachings like a sponge, the two becoming fast friends over the years.

They even began to have 'secret meetings' around his fifteenth birthday. It wasn't easy, however, to keep their meetings secret as the years rolled on, the templars were easy enough to mislead with excuses of elven meditation techniques, but the other mages were much more difficult, as they partook in such secret meetings themselves, but he was almost certain that Irving knew, as he seemed to know everything that happened in the tower.

Alim walked up behind her, she seemed not to notice, too preoccupied to hear his soft footsteps. "Hello Senior Enchanter Leorah" he said, placing his hand gently upon her shoulder. She jumped slightly at his touch with a small squeal, which had him worried.

Leorah was not a jumpy person, it was not easy to take her by surprise, and if anyone did she was more likely to punch whoever had the audacity to sneak up on her than jump. The templars did not take it well when she knocked their helmets off though, but they relented as her talents in magic ran more toward healing.

 _'Wait... did she just squeal?'_ he asked himself, shocked that he had heard such a thing _'it was... cute'_ he blushed slightly, and a certain part of his anatomy twitched, wanting to hear that sound more.

"Oh, hello Alim. Congratulations on your Harrowing. Is there something you need?" She seemed nervous as she said the last part but Alim chose to overlook it for now.

"Thank you, and congratulations on your promotion. Senior Enchanter, you must be thrilled." he said, making obvious his pride in her. She smiled widely at the look he gave her.

"Yes, it's been great, really, more responsibilities, having to manage things, make sure nothing goes wrong..." she trailed off with a worried look.

She was obviously bothered by something so Alim decided to be direct. "Leorah, What's wrong? You've wanted to be a senior enchanter for as long as I can remember. Now here you are newly promoted and completely on edge. Can you tell me what's bothering you?" Alim asked, sitting at the table beside her and resting a comforting hand on her arm.

Leorah looked at him for a moment before deciding to come clean. "Alright, the truth is there's a bit of a problem with the storerooms. They've been infested with giant spiders and I'm not sure what to do. I can't leave to deal with them myself and if anyone finds out about them they'll think I'm incompetent. I've only just been promoted, I couldn't handle the shame." Alim thought on her words for a moment.

He had nothing else to do at the moment and obliterating spiders would be good exercise. A poor excuse for wanting to aid his lovely teacher, he knew, but... "Alright, I'll help you." Her eyes widened for moment and she looked about to say something, but then she closed her mouth and her eyes softened and gleamed with an emotion he felt he recognized, but couldn't place.

More than three hours later Alim and Leorah emerged from the storerooms. Truthfully, it took him less than ten minutes to kill the two dozen spiders and burn the corpses into non-existence, but when he was about the leave the catacombs he found Leorah just inside the doors.

She was more than grateful and even rewarded him with a few poultices and salves. Alim figured they might come in handy at some point, and as he thanked her and turned to leave the stockrooms she stopped him with a kiss.

He deepened the kiss and picked her up by the hips, much to her pleasure, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, causing her robe to ride up and show off her firm legs.

He was fixing his braid, having already fixed his robes, while Leorah was tying her long hair back into it's tight bun. He smirked, silently proud of himself, he had succeeded in making her squeal again, and again, and again, and so on...

Once he had finished with his braid he made to turn to her, hugging her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder, not tall enough to rest it on top of her head.

She turned her head to face him, and kissed him chastely once more, he reciprocated by sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. She moaned and looked at him with half lidded eyes with that same look in them that he had seen several times now but couldn't place.

"I love you" she said softly, as if all this was a dream and she would wake up if she spoke too loudly.

Alim froze, the sudden confession brought unto him a sudden awareness of what the look in her eyes was, what he was to her, what she was to him. Something that had plagued his soul, not having known what the warmth within was, but now being suddenly aware.

"I..." he started to say, but he could not finish it. After all these years together with her, and now more so than ever with her confession bringing enlightenment and understanding upon his heart and mind and soul, he knew without a doubt what he felt, and what he wanted more than anything to say.

But, for whatever reason that he did not understand, he could not finish it. Something, he did not know what, was blocking his words from coming out... no, he did know, it was himself.

He was afraid of... what? He did not know. He was not afraid that if he said it, that she would leave... nor was he afraid of her staying by his side if he said it... he was afraid of the templars separating them, but that was not what concerned him most, it was not what had him paralyzed with fear.

"I understand" she said, causing his eyes to widen and tears to well. "You are a young man yet. No matter how smart you are, how talented or strong, you are but a young man. So young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. I know, you do not have to say it.

"I know" she said, grasping his shaking hands with her own, "that right now you are not Alim Surana, newly harrowed mage and poster-child of the aequitarian fraternity, nor am I Leorah Anarie, your tough-as-nails instructor. We are simply a man and a woman having fun with each other."

He tightened his hold on her, her words of kindness and understanding in the face of his supposed rejection grating upon his very soul.

"You do not have to lie to me. This dalliance has come to have deeper meaning to me, this is true, but I would never expect you to feel the same for someone like me."

But no matter how understanding she was to him, no matter how many compassionate or kind the words she spoke to appease him, she could not mask the naked hurt he saw reflecting in her eyes. She left his embrace and made to leave the room, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to look into his eyes as the tears finally fell.

What he could not speak, he could only hope to convey with his eyes, the windows to his soul, windows that could hide nothing. Leorah looked into his ever expressive eyes and wept herself, for she understood that her love was quite requited, and in that she knew a joy greater than anything the ever dreamed she could feel. They fell against each other in an embrace, both of them weeping in unbridled joy and love.

"I can not say it, I know not why" Alim admitted, she nodded, having naught to say in return. "I will say it, just not yet. For whatever reason, I can not bring myself to." He said, and she nodded again.

The two then simply stood in silence, their tears having dried up. Nothing else needed to be said.

* * *

Alim shut the door of the mage laboratory with a smile. Happy with the wonderful feelings now filling his heart to the bursting.

Upon entered the hallway he ran into Jowan.

His new-found happiness, it seemed, was not to last.

"Hello, Jowan," He said calmly, turning to face his friend. Jowan jumped slightly in surprise, he had just been about to announce his presence to his friend when it seemed that he already knew he was there.

This was not doing his nerves any favors.

"Oh, good. I was hoping to find you." Jowan whispered. Alim's smile lessened slightly at the nervousness in his friends voice and the way he was looking around.

"What's wrong, Jowan. Your very jumpy today." He said imperiously, not liking this, and remembering how Jowan acted before...

"I can't say here. Lets go somewhere more private." He said skittishly, like a rabbit who would be scared away if he spoke too loudly.

"Jowan, this isn't like you." Alim said, following the nervous apprentice. "And why are we going towards the chapel? This is not exactly the most private of places for a mage."

"We need to be here. I'll explain in a second." Jowan muttered as he pushed the door open slowly, not wanting them to creak and possibly alert anyone. There were not any templars in the chapel at the moment, and only one Sister. Surprisingly, Jowan headed right for her, Alim in tow _'why is he...'._

"Ok," he said when they reached her alcove, "we can talk here." Jowan seemed to perk up when he stood next to the red haired sister, making Alim suspicions return full force.

"Jowan you do realize one of the Chantry's Sisters is right behind you, don't you? That's not exactly privacy as far as I'm concerned." Alim asked, studying her suspiciously.

She was certainly attractive enough, for a human (or a sister), she had red hair peeking out from under her white hood, which when put together with her red Chantry robes and vibrant green eyes... this was not his day it seemed. Each minute spent around Jowan today only seemed to add to his unwanted suspicions of his friend.

"Oh I'm not a sister, just an Initiate," she responded, _'which doesn't explain why your here, or how you got a mage to trust you so much,'_ she smiled slightly as she stepped up to stand beside Jowan, _'or maybe it does'_ he thought with narrowed eyes, the feeling of wrongness in his gut only increasing.

"Alim, you remember how I said I had, met a girl?" Jowan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is Lily."

"You... You can't be serious, can you?" Alim asked backing away slightly, his deer eyes widening and his long ears drooping in disbelief, hoping against hope that the two would start laughing at their joke, for it could only be a joke. Mages were ostracized enough as it was, and that included any romantic life they could have had, but with a Chantry sister (or an initiate)... Jowan, he could understand, he was always a little slow on the uptake, but she had taken vows against this sort of thing, she had given herself to the Chantry, mind, body, and soul.

"I am," Jowan said, gently gripping Lily's hand. "I know what your thinking-" _'I highly doubt it'_ "-but I love her." She smiled warmly at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He wanted more than anything to explode at his friend, reminding him about Arthur and Conan who had similarly been taken in by the wiles of a Chantry sister. Both of them had thought they had fallen in love (perhaps they did at that), but when the templars inevitably caught them in the act the sisters chose to, instead of face punishment or defend their lovers, label them mind domineering blood mages forcing them into illicit acts.

He wanted more than anything to explode at Lily, reminding her of the oaths she had taken, about how there must have been other initiates, sisters, mothers, or even clerics who had fallen in love (or lust) but chose to keep to their vows and abstain. He wanted to ask her what she thought made her so special that she could indulge herself without consequences when all others who broke their vows so callously were punished to some degree.

But instead, he just used his breathing techniques to calm himself down. His own recent experiences with love made him want to give them the benefit of the doubt, against his better judgement or not.

"Don't tell me you've only brought me here to talk about your affair. This is your business, and not an issue to be discussed at this point. You both are already in too deep to go back to normalcy so I won't try to talk you out of it." They both looked nervous at his stern look like a couple of small children caught doing something bad.

"No." Jowan said sourly, his face falling. "There is something else." He glanced helplessly at Lily, who was also frowning. _'Sod it all, this can't be good.'_

"I was in the First Enchanters office yesterday, and I saw something very disturbing," she said, and Alim could hear the genuine fear tinting her voice, something that made him reconsider her being like Sisters Petrice or Guenevieve.

"They are planning to make Jowan Tranquil" she said lowly, and Alim could almost feel his heart stop and his blood run cold.

"No, no that isn't possible " Alim whispered in horror.

Death was not the worst thing that could befall a mage of the Circle, it may be a particularly final sentencing, but there was the possibility of a better life afterwards at the Maker's side... not that he believed in such a fate for himself, as he was most decidedly NOT an Andrastian, (he did not believe what some of the more vindictive Chantry members preached, that all mages were hated and cursed by the Maker and bound for the void). And, no matter what, you were yourself right up until the end, whether you went begging and screaming or silently and with a smile, it was always your choice.

Tranquility, however, was far worse. Using some ritual involving a lyrium brand, the templars cut the mage off from the Fade. This took away the person's magic, which could be considered a good thing to some, because that was what allowed mages to be possessed by Fade demons. Hence the reason Tranquility was offered as an alternative to the Harrowing.

The flip side was was that the process also removed all emotions from the victim. For all intents and purposes, the new Tranquil was an empty husk, able to exist, but not to truly live. Contrary to popular belief, however, tranquil still held their free will. It was only emotions and dreams that were lost, anything else like fighting ability or ambition or actual thoughts were still there.

There were some cultures that used tranquil mages exclusively as their armed forces. Since the tranquil did not know anger or fear, they could carry out orders to the letter without anything, not even common decency, getting in the way. Anyone could tell right from wrong, but it emotions to care.

It got even worse since it wasn't just an option given to mages. Alim was sympathetic towards those like like Owain that had chosen their path, then at least it had been their choice.

There were others, however, who had Tranquility forced upon them. Those whom the templars considered too weak to pass the Harrowing, and therefor were taken away and forced to be Tranquil. They were murdered without even having the finality of death. The first time someone Alim knew had been forced to undergo Tranquility, he had been 9.

He had spent much of that night hugging his pillow and crying, partially because of her loss, and partially to reassure himself that he still could. To reassure himself that he was still a person and not an empty shell like his former friend.

His horror slowly turned to rage. _'Those bastards are planning to take another friend from me?'_ he mentally hissed. _'Over my dead body.'_

"Are you alright?" Lily asked worriedly, "you need to calm down, it's getting hard to breathe." This did not even begin to describe what was happening. Alim's fury was causing his magic to flare up, condensing the air around him. If anyone were to try to touch him, they would have had their hands go completely numb for their trouble. Alim closed his eyes, then started breathing slowly.

He used his breathing techniques again, forcing his rage down. Finally, he opened his eyes. "Why? What excuse have they come up with?" The blinding rage that had filled him was gone, but the two before him recoiled slightly at the cold hate in his voice.

"There are rumors, that I'm a... blood mage. They think that making me a full mage would put the Tower at risk." This admission made Alim pause. Rumors did not typically spring up from nothing, but to suspect Jowan...

"Are you?" Alim asked bluntly, hoping to goad an honest response from him by the shock factor of the sudden inquiry.

"Of course not!" Jowan insisted far too quickly, shaking his head vigorously. "But that doesn't matter. The templars only have to think I am. They'll take everything from me!" He wailed. "My magic, my soul, my love for Lily, all gone!"

"Jowan, I need to talk to you." Alim said quietly.

"But we are-"

"Privately" Alim insisted, dragging Jowan off towards the other side of the chapel. Lily started to follow, but backed off as Alim's icy eyes turned on her.

"What is this about?" Jowan asked. "Lily is helping-"

"How much do you trust her?" Alim interrupted his friend again. "We only have her word that this isn't a trap."

"How could you?" Jowan hissed. "I know Lily. She wouldn't be a part of any trap!"

"Are you willing to bet your life on that? She's one of them."

"No, she isn't!" Jowan retaliated. "I love Lily, I trust her with my life. Please, understand that. I know how you feel on these matters, but she is not like them!"

" Fine. On your head be the consequences. Just know that I don't trust her." Jowan opened his mouth for a moment before closing it and walking stiffly back to Lily, followed by Alim.

"Will you help us?" she asked worriedly.

"I need to think on this... I won't tell anyone." He said, but then added when he caught Jowan's worried look.

"I understand, but please don't take too long." Lily said to him, and he nodded to her before he walked away to think about all this new information... as well as the suspicions that he did not want to think of, but were fitting too well into place to be coincidence.

_'Sod, I've picked a lovely situation for myself, now haven't I?'_


	4. Bound in Blood and Magic Part 2: Betrayal

Alim walked out of the Chantry, his footsteps slow and heavy and his mind weighed down by thoughts of what he should do. His sense of euphoria from his parting with Leorah long gone, replaced with the knowledge that his friend might very well be put through the Right of Tranquility in the near future, that said friend had an illegal affair with an initiate of the Chantry, was suspected to be a blood mage, and that said friend wanted Alim to make him an apostate.

He was only assuming the latter, but given the circumstances there was nothing else that Jowan would ask him to help with.

He was also infuriated with his 'friend' for getting him involved, secrets could not remain so forever, and once it got out, as it inevitably would, he would be labelled as a criminal for keeping this information to himself. Therefore, by helping Jowan escape and making him an apostate, the only options he himself had was to become an apostate with him or sacrifice himself to the templars to give him the chance to escape.

He knew in his heart that Jowan likely wasn't smart enough to realize it, but by bringing him into the loop and asking for his help, he was truly giving him no choice but to sacrifice himself.

Of course there was always the possibility that Graegoir knew of Lily's affair and was using her, knowing that they would go to him, him and Jowan being so close, giving him the excuse he so wanted to get rid of him. But then again, Graegoir wasn't that much of a chess payer, the man couldn't plan ahead to save his life, so he highly doubted it.

As he passed through the library, he picked up a book he had been meaning to read. He sat down in the hopes that reading the book would help to clear his mind as it always had in the past.

Alim sighed, it was a difficult place to be. If Jowan was truly using blood magic, and Alim was unsure he believed his friend when he denied the fact, then he deserved to be Tranquil. But there was no way to be sure. As a mage he knew his duty, and that was to report to the First Enchanter. Perhaps Irving would be able to calm his fears about Jowan being a blood mage if nothing else.

* * *

"I trust you saw Duncan back to his quarters?" Irving asks, looking up briefly as Alim walked into his office once again.

"Of course, First Enchanter." Alim said and looked around the room for anything that might play into his suspicions.

"I'm glad you met him. He's a most honorable man." Irving said.

"I agree. It was an honor to have met him." Alim says, genuinely honored to have met someone so important as the Commander of the Gray.

"Grey Wardens are peerless warriors who sacrifice all for our sakes." He ran his hand slowly across his head, deep in thought. "We can learn much from them. Now, did you need something?"

Alim stopped his pacing as he spied the books on the First Enchanter's desk. He had read practically every book in first two floors of the tower, and he recognized most of these titles. "Why do you have books on blood magic on your desk?"

Irving paused. "I've removed them from the library. I was…advised it might be unwise to leave them where any apprentice may read them. They will be put away somewhere very safe."

Alim sighed in disappointment, he was hoping that he wouldn't find something like this, the suspicions gnawing at his mind didn't need any added fuel any longer. At this point it was unlikely that Jowan wasn't a blood mage. But even if all the clues pointed in that direction, it didn't necessarily mean it was true, he told himself, not willing to believe his friend of evil.

The books in the library had given Jowan a very easy way to learn blood magic, if nothing else…he had to ask, there was nothing for it. His body tensed as he spoke. "When is Jowan going through the Harrowing?" His voice inaudibly trembled as he asked, and Irving raised an eyebrow at the seemingly out of topic question "When he is ready."

"He fears he is going to be made Tranquil." Alim admitted at last, somewhat relieved to tell one so much wiser than himself.

"And how does he know this? I suppose the young initiate he dallies about with revealed it to him" he said, shocking Alim into silence. He had suspected that Irving, as the master of the tower, might already know, but to hear it confirmed as a different matter.

"You think I didn't know?" He said to Alim's surprised face "I did not become first enchanter by keeping my eyes and ears shut." His voice was almost harsh as he said this.

Biting his lip, Alim continued. "So it's true?" his quiver audible this time.

Irving nodded, his voice soft again. "I'm afraid it is. Greagoir says he has proof—and eyewitness testimony—that Jowan has been practicing blood magic. I cannot say more. Were it left to me, things might be different. But the Chantry…" He sighed in surrender that he would have to punish one of his own so seriously. "I'm sorry child, this Rite of Tranquility will happen."

Alim looked away to hide his tearful expression, not that turning away did him any good as the sagely man saw it anyway and allowed him a moment of silence.

Jowan had lied to him, he knew the consequences for blood magic, and the truth of the matter made Alim's insides ache. His first instinct was to claim that Greagoir's testimony to be a lie, but he knew full well how Greagoir viewed mages, and he knew that even though that man distrusted them, he would not lie about such an important matter.

There was only one 'right' thing to do now. "You must know that Jowan plans to escape the Circle….he plans to destroy his phylactery." He ignored the fact that he was only assuming that last part, but there was nothing else it could be, it wasn't even a gamble, he was so certain of this that he would stake his life on it.

If a... he hated himself for admitting it... maleficar wanted to escape from Kinloch Hold, then they would certainly try to destroy their leash first.

Irving put his hands behind his back and walked closer. "And I suppose his lady friend is involved? Yes, she must be helping him. She would know more about the repository than he would. Do you know anything else?"

Alim shook his head. "No, I came to see if you could confirm Jowan's dabbling in blood magic before I proceeded."

Irving sighed. "I suspected Lily would tell him of the impending Rite if she found out. But I never expected they would have the gall to break into the repository."

"What will you do with Jowan?" he asked somewhat hopefully.

"Reporting him to Greagoir and the templars will accomplish nothing beyond what's already planned." Irving admitted, "if the Circle must punish one of its own, I will see the Chantry does the same courtesy. Lily will not walk free while my apprentice suffers." Irving's face was dark, and there was a undertone to his voice Alim didn't think possible from the calm, kind old man.

"Could you not just tell them she's involved?" He asked, already knowing the answer, but still hopeful that he was wrong and that the Chantry would deal out punishment to one of it's own and not make up excuses, taking the words of an elf-blooded human mage and his elven apprentice over that of a human initiate.

Irving shook his head. "If we mention her involvement, the Chantry will say she was framed. No, she must be caught in the act." Alim sighed—it was true. It was unfair of the Chantry to let Lily walk free. It was her information that led to the decision facing the three now.

"Jowan will become Tranquil, but Lily must also face the consequences of her actions." Irving continued in a grim tone, "How did you learn of their plan? Do they trust you?"  
Alim pressed his eyelids together tightly, he had never known that duty would taste so bitter. "Yes, they do."

"Good. Convince them you will risk all for their cause. I will be outside the repository with a contingent of templars. Let them see the mischief into which their initiate has led our student." He said and tapped his staff on the ground (the loud crack signifying surprising strength for his age) signifying that they were done, and Alim bowed and left.

Alim walked back into the Chantry and pulled Jowan aside one last time. "I need to talk to you about one thing before I decide Jowan." He said quietly, his soft voice rumbling in his chest.

His friend's eyes widened. "Really, what is it?"

"The rumor about you being a blood mage isn't true? Do you swear?"

"Of course not!" Jowan growled, frowning. "I'd never use blood magic. I've been sneaking around to meet Lily in secret. Maybe others have seen me and assumed I must be doing something forbidden. I suppose we are, but…they think it's blood magic, and it isn't." He pleaded, not knowing the irony in his statement. Using blood magic or dallying with a priest, both were crimes worthy of the Rite of Tranquility in the eyes of the Chantry.

Alim sighed, Jowan had sealed his fate. So be it, there was nothing more that he could do for him. "Alright then, I'll help you." His stomach still knotted as he spoke, he was pitting one loyalty against another, and if he was wrong in this it would mean catastrophe.

Lily walked back to Jowan's side and smiled, holding her lover's arm. "Thank you. We will never forget this." Alim cringed inside. "I can get us into the repository. But there's a problem. There are two locks on the phylactery chamber door. The first enchanter and knight-commander each hold one key. But it is just a door. There is power enough in their place to destroy all of Ferelden. What's a door to mages?"

Her statement was... slightly insulting, to be honest. Of course her estimation of their power was flattering, but the casual and dismissive way she said it sounded like she was saying that mages not only could do such a thing, but would feel nonchalant or apathetic about such a thing as well.

_'What does Jowan see in her? I could live to be one hundred and still never understand humans.'_

It didn't help his opinion of her that she was already on his bad side for getting them into this mess.

"What if it's an enchanted door?" Alim mused, and Lily and Jowan's eyes widened, they clearly hadn't thought of that.

Jowan shook his head. "We have no choice. We cannot get our hands on both keys." He paused. "I once saw a rod of fire melt through a lock. You could get one from the stockroom—I'd do it, but Owain doesn't release such things to apprentices."

Nodding, Alim agreed. "I will go and retrieve a rod of fire." He gritted his teeth, he really had to get a hold of himself, he was going to give himself away if he kept fighting himself like this.

Lily looked up at Jowan, stars in her eyes. A look which Jowan returned in earnest.

After seeing the same look from Leorah, only directed at him, it became painfully obvious to him that she actually was serious in her devotion to his friend. His eyes softened at the sight, he had yet to return Leorah's confession. He decided to head to the laboratory after this to go see her.

Alim gripped his staff tightly as his heart gave a lurch, anyone capable of such love and devotion as he could see between them could never be so irredeemable, blood magic or not. "We should stay here." She said softly. "One mage at the stockroom will attract less attention than a mage, an apprentice and an initiate. Our prayers go with you" she said sincerely.

Just as there were a great many priests who viewed magic as a curse, a mark of the Maker's hatred upon their souls, there were those who viewed magic as a gift from the Maker. They viewed magic as as the Maker's gift to those chosen by him to protect and look after the world he had created and abandoned. Of course these were fringe elements of the Chantry, and only preached this philosophy in secret.

Perhaps Lily was such a one, and maybe that was why Jowan was attracted to her.

Either way though, Alim couldn't leave the room quick enough. The whole situation made him feel dirty, but what he was doing seemed to him to be the lesser of two evils. His heart beat quicker than when he had been fighting in the Fade as he hurried to the storeroom. Owain, the tranquil mage who managed the store room, was waiting there as he always was.

Alim idly wondered if Owain ever slept. But that was silly, he admonished himself, the man was tranquil; he may not have emotions, but he was still human.

For having no emotions, or perhaps because he had no emotions, Owain was very perceptive. "Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items. How may I assist you?" He called out from the desk he sat behind as he saw Alim approach.

Smiling, Alim waved. "Hello again Owain. I need a rod of fire."

The Tranquil went back to scribbling on the pages before him. "Rods of fire serve many purposes. Why do you wish to acquire this particular item?"

Biting his tongue, Alim quickly replied. "I need it for a research project I am undertaking." He said, knowing that a convincing lie needed a reasonable and believable premise to build upon. He was just grateful that Owain was tranquil, otherwise the lie would need to be more complicated.

Alim may have been skilled in a number of areas, but his skill in lying was certainly his weakest area. That was not necessarily a bad thing, but under the circumstances...

Owain didn't look up from his work. "I will set down that you require the rod of fire to deal with a personal matter. Here is the form—"Request for Rod of Fire." Have it signed and dated by a senior enchanter. I will release a rod to you once I have the signed form." Owain said emotionlessly and efficiently.

Alim sighed as he took the form and walked away. He understood fully why mages were no longer allowed to take from the storeroom freely and the need for all this protocol. All that needed to be said on that matter was that Lily's earlier statement about the tower having enough power to destroy all of Ferelden was not entirely an estimation.

It was thanks only to a young Irving's actions that they were not Annulled.

Part of him hadn't wanted to get away with fooling Owain. But regardless, he needed to find a senior enchanter to sign his slip. Of course, he could always ask Irving; the more he was seen with Irving, however, the more he feared Jowan would find out the plan. So, he had to find someone else.

He chose to go to Leorah. He was relieved that the laboratory was empty save for her when he got there, with nobody there he wouldn't have to lie to her which was the last thing he wanted. Of course he couldn't tell the truth either, doing so would have put the operation in jeopardy.

"Oh, hello again love" she said when she saw him, and he smiled and pecked her on the lips. "I need another favor."

"Oh?" she asked with an amused and teasing look "I should hope this favor won't be as draining as the last one I owed you, I can still hardly walk." She finished with a gesture toward her seated position. He blushed heavily and dropped his staff to wave his hands in the negative, causing her to burst out laughing.

He groaned to himself, she was normally strict and intimidating, but when they were alone with each other she allowed her more playful and humorous side to come out.

 _'I'm not so sure that's a good thing anymore'_ he thought in jest.

"Oh calm down Alim, I'm just playing with you," she said through her laughing. He couldn't help but smile as his depression over the situation with Jowan was washed away by her laugh.

Women were natural anti-depressants, they just had to smile or laugh, and it lit up the whole world.

"No" he said, trying to get back to the task at hand, "I just need you to sign this form." He handed her the form and knelt down to pick up his staff, cradling it in his right hand.

"A rod of fire? Alim, you know enough fire magic to burn down the tower. What's going on?" she asked sternly, she was now in her 'stern teacher' mode, somehow managing to be intimidating despite her sex induced inability to stand up.

She could have long since healed her legs with magic, but she liked the soreness.

He instantly sobered up, "I'm doing a service for Master Irving. I wish I could say more, but I just can't." She raised an eyebrow at his hesitant posture, but knowing how much he revered his grandfather figure, and knowing he would not lie about something like this, she relented.

"Sure why not, what harm could it do." She laid the form down on the table and dipped her quill into its ink well, causing him to sigh in relief.

He promised himself that if he survived all of this he would sit her down and explain everything. She would undoubtedly be angry with him for taking such a large risk to see one initiate brought to justice, but he knew she would understand his initiative.

"Thank you" he said retrieving the signed form and kissing her again, but lingering a little longer this time. They separated and he began to walk away, but was stopped short by a tug on his hand, so he turned around to see that she was still holding his free hand.

They shared a smile and a quick laugh before he left the laboratory. He blew her a kiss before he went out the doors, and she made a catching gesture and pressed the hand to her heart.

Alim quickly walked down the hallway back to the storeroom, lost in his thoughts.

It just occurred to him that if this all went badly, he might never see Leorah again. Or even worse, she might think him a traitor to the Circle, follower of a blood mage. That thought, more than any other, made him resolute in his first task as an official mage of Kinloch Hold.

* * *

The bald Tranquil's blue eyes stared at him. "Do you have the form?" The elven mage nodded and handed the paper over. Owain thoroughly looked the small piece of paper. "Everything looks to be in order." He walked over to one of the locked cabinets in the back of the room and drew a thin, white rod. "Here is the rod you requested." Slowly, Alim bowed and attempted to walk confidently out the door and down to the Chantry.

From the rate he was breathing, he assumed he was not accomplishing 'normal' behavior. Soon enough, however, he was at the Chantry, and he joined Jowan and Lily in their corner. He could hear Jowan muttering as he approached. Leaning in close to the two he said softly, "I have the rod."

Jowan's face lit up. "That was quick!"

Lily smiled beside him. "To the repository then, freedom awaits."

The three walked slowly, making small talk down to the first floor where the apprentice dormitories and the basement door were. Alim was sending out small magic bursts, just weak enough to blend into the ambient magic of the tower so as to avoid being sensed, to detect if anyone came to close and evade them so they weren't seen. And even if they were, a mage, an apprentice, and a priest were not that much of an unusual site to be completely out of place.

Priests normally took every opportunity they could get to convince mages of how much the Maker and the world he created loathed their very existence. Killing mages outright was ethically wrong, but talking them into severe depression and/or suicide was perfectly acceptable.

Okay, so that was a bit of an overstatement on his part, but sometimes it truly felt that way to him.

Still, he preferred not to take any chances.

Stopping outside the heavy wooden door to the lower reaches of the tower, they waited until the area was clear and then bolted into the basement.

The repository was unnaturally cold, Alim could see his breath mist before him. They walked the single passage for a while before coming onto a large wooden door, reinforced with many overlapping boards and large metal bolts. Besides the size, there was a small sparking of magic around the door that intimidated Alim, it was both mage and templar in nature.

He could not tell what kind of spell it was though, despite it being some kind of barrier.

The lady initiate piped up beside him. "The Chantry calls this entrance 'The Victims' Door.' It was built of two hundred and seventy-seven planks, one for each original templar. It is a reminder of all the dangers those cursed with magic pose." After Alim raised a rather accusatory eyebrow at her she quickly continued. "Initiates must learn the Circle's history if they are to work with templars and mages. The door can be opened only by a templar and a mage entering together. The Chantry provides the password which primes the ward, and the mage touches it with mana to release it."

"But Jowan..." he said, pointing out the apparent unnecessity of his presence.

She paused. "Only a mage that has undergone their Harrowing may open the door."

Nodding, Alim stepped closer to the door. "I trust you have the password?" he said in a clipped tone, noting from the way she said 'cursed with magic' was not in a disagreeing way in any stretch of the imagination, meaning that he was wrong in his earlier estimation of her, and that even though she was in love with a mage, she was not one of those who sympathized with mages.

"Yes. I got it from a templar who recently accompanied a mage into the vault," making Alim raise an eyebrow at her "and he wasn't suspicious of you?" He questioned her on her odd behavior, making Jowan roll his eyes at his friend's 'overly suspicious nature' as he said.

 _'Wannabe sleuth.'_ Was Jowan's inward critique.

"We have chatted on many occasions, I believe he trusts me." She shrugged and pressed her hand to the door.

"First, the password. 'Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade.'" A clicking noise echoed, followed by a small hissing noise that indicated the release of the barrier. Lily lowered her hand and continued softly. "The password only primes the door. Now it must feel the touch of mana. Any spell will do, but hurry."

With a flick of his wrist, Alim fired a bolt of spirit energy at the door. The bolt dissipated and the door slowly inched open with a creak, his mind making it sound louder then it was from the stress. Directly in front of them now stood another large heavy door. The air was deadly still around the door as they approached, and Alim quickly pulled the wand out of a hidden pocket in his sleeve. Pointing the rod at the large silver lock on the door he directed his power through it.

Nothing happened.

Lily mewled beside him. "What's the matter? Why isn't it working?"

Alim carefully placed his free hand on the door. "I'm not sure..." He muttered looking the door over, tapping his staff on the ground in annoyance.

Jowan stared at his hands, then looked up at his love. "Lily…something's not right. I…can't cast spells here, nothing works."

His friend hadn't missed his attempt at magic, and had attempted an arcane bolt himself.

Alim studied the area around the door and saw runes on the floor and walls, the same runes etched into the walls of the harrowing chamber. "I read about these markings…they're wards. Templar work, they negate any magic cast within the area." He said finally, turning to face the other two.

Lily's face darkened in hopelessness. "I should have guessed! Why would Greagoir and Irving use simple keys for such a door? Because magical keys don't work!" She laid her hand against the door and her head against her arm. "How do you keep mages away from something? Make their powers completely worthless!" She growled and threw her hands into the air.

"That's it then. We're finished! We can't get in." _'You'd make a terrible mage, you would get possessed instantly with that defeatist attitude'_ were his thoughts that went unsaid for Jowan's sake.

Alim desperately wanted to turn back, to just leave Jowan and Lily to their fates, but he had sworn to Irving and himself that he would carry this through. "That door there," he pointed down the hall. "Where does that lead?"

Lily shrugged. "I don't know. Do you think it's another way in?" she asked with a voice so full of hope that he almost pitied her.

Jowan rested his hand on Lily's shoulder softly. "That door probably leads to another part of the repository. What are the chances of there being another entrance?" He glanced at his elven friend.

Alim shrugged. "It's worth a try, right? Who knows…we might be able to make another entrance if we get out of this anti-magic zone…."

The Chantry initiate and lone woman nodded. "We can't get into the chamber the way we planned but we're not about to give up" she said, confirming Alim's beliefs about her, her emotions swung too often and too out of control, which would have led to her immediate possession had she been born a mage, "we can see where this door leads, but I don't think it'll be easy…it looks locked for one."

Alim groaned in annoyance, when this whole debacle was over he was working on a spell that opened locks. Crazy that no mage had discovered one yet, but then again, he wouldn't know if one had been invented or not because the templars would have forbidden it from being taught.

"The rod will work on those locks, shouldn't it?" he asked, idly twirling the rod in his left hand.

She smiled slightly "yes, let's hope they haven't warded that door as well."

Jowan nodded, heading towards the door "let's hurry, we've wasted enough time."

The very atmosphere seemed to change as they moved away from the warded door. Wand still in hand, Alim aimed for the lock. Sure enough, the wand melted through the metal lock easily. As the molten metal dripped to the floor, the door clicked open. Sighs escaped from the two humans behind him, relieved as expected.

What was not as expected was the clinking...as he turned around a suit of armor literally clamored over to them. If it had had a face, Alim assumed it would have been enraged; it was obvious from the raised greatsword that it wasn't there to escort them around the place. Lily hung behind Jowan as the two mages began to face off against the armor.

Instinctively, Alim took his staff into both hands and raised it up to block the overhead swing of the sword, and he then moved his staff up and to the left to put his opponent off balance and followed with a horizontal downward swing to knock it from it's feet.

Once the empty suit of armor was on it's back as intended, he thrust the tip of his staff at it's chest plate, and he pierced through it by coating the tip of his staff in a blade of arcane energy.

The suit's hands twitched in pain for a second as if in pain before it stopped moving.

"Wow, you didn't even need my help for that. Maybe I should just leave all the fighting to you." Jowan joked with a lighthearted look, while Lily just looked shocked that a mage could be so good at physical combat or that a willowy elf could be so strong. He didn't respond, simply turning to them with a stern look, which Jowan could only hold his hands up in surrender at "I'm joking! Just joking."

Every corridor and every room, more of those living armor creatures attacked, some of them even seemed to be mages.

Lily mumbled during the second attack about the 'unnaturalness' of it all, how the guardians were not of the Maker. Alim simply saw them as another example of Chantry hypocrisy. "No Lily," he started, getting annoyed at her attitude, "these things are not of the Maker. These things are of the Chantry, and their sole purpose for existing? The wholesale slaughter of those who step out of bounds or go where the Chantry feels they don't belong." He almost shouted, gaining him an almost tearful look from the 'innocent' initiate and an angry look from her lover.

His eyes softened at the look she gave him. He loved women, he admired everything about the fairer sex almost to a fault, and to see the girl almost crying tore at his heart. "I'm sorry Lily" he said with a genuinely apologetic expression, leaning his staff against his neck and placing both his hand on her shoulders reassuringly, "it's just that I'm not exactly Andrastian myself, and the hypocrisy of these things angers me."

She looked at him like she wanted to argue with him, but she simply wiped at her eyes and lamented with a silent nod.

Crates littered the halls and storage ways, and Alim found himself wondering what mysteries were stored in the deep places of the Circle Tower. It seemed they had no time to investigate though, as his two companions pushed him through the tunnels. The path stopped into a large room, filled to the roof with books, boxes and several statues. The three walked around the high-ceilinged room with wide eyes. Alim found himself drawn to a statue of a human woman in a back corner.

The statue was a masterful work of art, made of a beautiful white marble. The woman depicted seemed to be a mage wearing ancient Tevinter robes, she held a staff in her right hand that seemed to be carved from the same marble as the rest of the statue.

The statue seemed to stare at them as they approached.

Jowan was the first to step past him and approach the statue "there's something odd about that statue."

Alim soon stood by him. "I wonder who this is, I mean it is obviously a female human mage from ancient Tevinter if the robes mean anything."

"Greetings." The statue's seductive voice seemed to echo.

"Maker's breath!" The apprentice gasped, and Alim's eyes widened remembering about how the Tevinters had a form of punishment, transforming the offender into a sentient statue for all eternity. "Did it just say something?"

The spirit's voice echoed disturbingly "I am the essence and spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and advisor to Archon Valerius. Prophecy my crime, cursed to stone for foretelling the fall of my lord's house."

"Archon Valerius?" Alim knew the archons were the lords of the Imperium—mostly overthrown when Andraste founded the Chantry, and Valerius in particular ruled during an unspecified time during the ancient age, who was killed and his house destroyed, just as the statue said.

"'Forever shall you stand on the threshold of my proud fortress,' He said, 'and tell your lies to all who pass…' But my lord found death at the hands of his enemies and his once-proud fortress crumbled to dust, as I foretold."

Lily trembled behind Jowan. "A Tevinter statue! Don't listen to it! The Tevinter lords dabbled in many forbidden arts! This is a wicked thing!"

Alim had to suppress a growl at her blind piety. He was an elf, and a direct descendant of Elvhenan nobility, so he more than anyone had a right to hate the Imperium, but to hate something just because it came from that place...

She, on the other hand, had absolutely no reason to hate or even be afraid of the Imperium, except of course for conditioned hatred. She only had negative feelings for Tevinter because someone told her to, and she had thoughtlessly obeyed like a child. The Imperium destroyed his ancestors lives and they were the reason mages were oppressed by the Chantry, so he had very good reasons to despise them, but her...

He had to calm himself down before the stale air down here became to thick to breath and accidentally kill both of them.

It was in that moment that he decided that Lily was just as mentally addled as her lover appeared to be ever since this girl was introduced to him. Neither of them able to see the others faults. He had no idea how Jowan could have such devotion for her when every other word out of her mouth was an affront to mages.

 _'Humans'_ he thought with a sneer. But that was not fair of him, he admitted, he had absolutely no problem with humans. They were racist true, and afraid of anything they did not understand or was different from them, and he pitied them for it. But even that was not true for all of them, Irving didn't have a single racist bone in his body, and it was from him that he had learned altruism, kindness and selflessness.

"It must have been here for years." Jowan shrugged and wrapped his arms around his love. "Look at the dust. I feel a little sorry for it…her." He added quickly.

"Weep not for me, child." The statue continued. "Stone they made me, and stone I am. Eternal and unfeeling. And I shall endure 'til the Maker returns to light their fires again."

Alim shuddered. The punishment heaped upon this woman seemed like a crueler version of the Right of Tranquility. At least the tranquil could die, but to be cursed with emotionlessness as well as eternal life seemed to him like he would be doing her a favor by destroying this statue.

"What does that mean?" he asked, but Jowan spoke before she could respond "ambiguous rubbish, it could mean anything. I can do it too: The sun grows dark, but lo! Here comes the dawn!"

Creeping from behind Jowan, Lily placed her hands on Alim's arm. "Stop talking to it." She mewled. "Please, both of you."

"Yes, we have much to do." He said through gritted teeth as he threw Lily's arm off.

Lily just stood there for a moment, surprised at this elf's strength. She had always assumed that with his small stature and thin limbs, he would only be as strong as a child without the aid of magic.

Alim noticed her daze _'and she's racist too'_ he thought with a suppressed growl _'she probably wouldn't have even come to me with this if Jowan didn't talk her into it'_

Near the petrified woman was another statue, this time of a sitting wolfhound, perhaps an ancestor of the mabari.

The statue was slightly decayed, but Alim recognized it as an amplification device used by the Tevinters to amplify their magic. Against the adjacent walls were bookshelves, all old, but one seemed to stand out as it stood against a section of wall that looked like it was decayed by decades of dripping water. Jowan walked over to the wall and placing his hand to his chin. "I think the phylactery chamber is on the other side of the wall behind this bookcase."

Alim peered behind the bookcase. "The wall looks weak here."

"We should be able to find something that can knock some of the bricks loose."

The new mage already had a plan. "You'll have to help me with the bookcase then." Jowan nodded and the two mages lifted the shelf off to the side. Alim then went to the statue and rotated it to face the exposed wall and pressed the rod of fire to it's neck.

Of course he contemplated using one of his own spells instead, but the rod of fire, much weaker than a fireball bast by even the weakest of mages, seemed perfect to use on an amplification statue.

A stream of blue fire burst from the statue's mouth and burst through the weakened wall with a great tremor. For a moment, he was worried about being found out. If Irving had not yet informed the templars of his mission and they came down here and saw the melted lock, they would most certainly assume the worst and come to kill them all.

"Let's hurry, someone would have heard that" he said, interrupting Jowan and Lily's celebratory dance.

A short flight of steps led from the archive to the phylactery chamber, and to the left they could see the warded door from earlier, except it shouldn't be warded from behind so they wouldn't have to go back around. No sooner had their feet hit the chamber floor than three more living statues attacked them. Sticking with the established strategy, Alim used staff to knock them to the ground or keep them at a distance and his summoned spirit swords to attack them from range. Jowan and Lily could only stay back and support, Jowan couldn't cast spells as he had ran out of mana on the way here and he didn't trust Lily with any of the dropped weapons.

The enchanted suits were getting too close by using their superior numbers, so he summoned a more stable sword to use in his left hand in conjunction with his staff in his right. After destroying the two smaller suits, he focused his attention on the larger one.

This one was more of a challenge than all the others he had fought, it was the size of a qunari and had a tower shield to go with it's greatsword. He parried it's sword with his staff and knocked it's shield away with his sword and pushed it into the wall with a blast of telekinetic energy. It stood up and gripped it's greatsword with both hands and rushed him, and they had a furious duel in which he had the shawl of his robe cut off and his back was cut open before he managed to behead the thing.

He panted and leaned heavily against his staff as he dismissed his sword and applied healing magic to his back. The cut was long but not deep, from his right shoulder to his left hip. He was running low on mana after all this and it would definitely scar, he sighed.

At least it was a clean cut, which meant that the scar left behind wouldn't be jagged and ugly.

To the right was a stone stairway up to a raised portion of the room, where multiple cabinets filled with glass phylacteries were. Waving Jowan and Lily up, the three ascended the stairs. Suddenly Jowan pointed to a simple container on a far shelf. "That's my phylactery!" He cried, running towards it. "You found it!" Smiling the apprentice grasped the container. "I can't believe this tiny vial stands between me and freedom" he muttered, staring. "So fragile, so easy just to be rid of its hold over me-" the vial seemed to slip through his fingers, shattering on the floor "-and I'm free.". The blood seeped into the cracks on the floor and slowly disappeared.

Alim found himself shuddering at the hissing noise Jowan's blood was making as it hit the cold air of the room.

"Let's get out of here." Jowan said, suddenly tired.

Even though their trial was over, guilt gnawed at Alim's heart. Jowan and Lily were going to face an opponent even worse than tranquility. And he would be the one to send them to their fate. His only friend...the worst betrayal.

Perhaps those who truly followed goodness always had to sacrifice... Alim prayed this would be the only time he would have to do something like this.

It was not until years later that he would realize how dreadfully wrong he was.

Sure enough, as they opened the door from the basement repository, Irving, Greagoir and a small contingent of templars were waiting. "An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage. I'm disappointed Lily." Greagoir muttered as he stepped forward. Alim could only turn away, and Jowan and Lily backed up in surprise and fear.

"She seems shocked but fully in control of her own mind. Not the thrall of a blood mage then... You were right Irving. The initiate has betrayed us. This will not go unpunished."

His gaze turned almost immediately to Alim. "And here's your lackey, who so efficiently delivered these miscreants into our hands. Your plan worked after all."

_'Lackey? As if I am incapable of doing anything on my own.'_

Jowan face flushed with shock. "You! Lily and I trusted you!" His voice shook with rage as he screamed at his friend. "How could you betray us like this?!" Alim jumped away, wincing as the newly formed scar tissue on his back was disturbed, backing towards Irving as the templars stepped forward.

Lily drew closer to Jowan. "We're trapped…"

"Enough." Greagoir commanded. "As Knight Commander of this Circle, I sentence this blood mage to death. This initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar."

"The... The mages prison... no, not there... please..." Lily stuttered, clinging to Jowan as the templars drew closer around them.

"No! I won't let you touch her!" Jowan screamed, pushing Lily behind him. Without a moment's hesitation, he plunged a dagger into his hand. As the blood splattered himself and all around him, a wave of red magic knocked everyone but Lily to the floor, and everyone of them save for Alim, Irving, Greagoir and an elvhen templar with blond hair _'strange'_ was knocked into unconsciousness. Lily gasped and turned to her lover, backing up slowly.

Alim was shocked at the display, he knew this would happen, but seeing it was something different entirely.

"By the Maker, blood magic..." she muttered at first then wailed. "How...how could you! You said you've never..."

Jowan turned to her, hand bleeding, pleading. "I admit...I dabbled. I thought it would make me a better mage..."

Alim gritted his teeth, he had lied to all of them!

Lily stopped, aghast. "Blood magic is evil Jowan. It corrupts people, changes them..."

"I'm going to give it up. Give up all magic...I just want to be with you Lily. Please, come with me."

"I trusted you. I was ready to sacrifice everything for you." Lily paused, tears running down her face. "I...I don't know you blood mage, get away from me!" Betrayed and shaken to his core, Jowan ran down the hall, and soon those knocked out by the spell were stumbling to their feet.

Alim sprung to his feet when he could move again, and as desperately as he wanted to chase down Jowan, he had see to his comrades first.

Alim ran to the First Enchanter's side, and soon the old man began to wake. Alim helped him to his feet as Irving spoke. "Are you all right? Where's Greagoir?"

The Knight-Commander was quickly at the First Enchanter's side, though he limped slightly. "I knew it…blood magic. But to overcome so many…I never thought him capable of such power."

Alim bit his lip, staring the way Jowan had run out. "He was lying after all." He knew he had done the right thing...but his blood still felt like poison in his veins.

Iriving leaned on Alim, quickly directing the mage to place healing spells on himself and the templars with what mana he had left. "None of us expected this." He said aloud. "Are you all right Greagoir?

Greagoir scoffed. "As good as can be expected given the circumstances! If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened!"

"He can't have gone far." Alim muttered, glancing towards the tower's exit. "You could still capture him."

The templar glanced narrowly at him. "Believe me, we will use our every resource. Where is the girl?"

"I…I am here, ser." Lily squeaked from the corner.

"You helped a blood mage!" Greagoir growled. "Look at all he's hurt!"

"Knight-Commander I… I was wrong." Lily stuttered, and Alim did not try to defend her. "I was accomplice to a…blood mage. I will...accept whatever punishment you see fit. Even...even Aeonar."

"Get her out of my sight." The female templar quickly drug Lily away as the Kinght-Commander turned to Alim with a sour look. "And you. You were in a repository full of magics that are locked away for a reason."

Irving laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Did you take anything important from the repository?"

Alim shook his head, still in too dour a mood to say anything. Greagoir snorted "hmph. Some honesty at last. But your antics have made a mockery of this Circle! Ah…what are we to do with you?"

The new mage bowed his head. "Nothing ser, I was just doing as I was told." It seemed so much like Greagoir to let his temper get the better of him, now more than ever he wished the Circle governed itself.

The First Enchanter nodded. "As I said, he was working under my orders."

"And this improves the situation? The phylactery chamber is forbidden to all save you and me!"

"I had my reasons." Irving replied, crossing his arms.

"You're not all knowing Irving!" The Knight-Commander drew face to face with his old adversary. "You don't know how much influence the blood mage might have had. How are we to deal with this?!"

Suddenly a new voice joined the argument, and Alim turned to see Duncan. The Grey Warden smiled as the three turned to him. Indeed the Maker was smiling on the Wardens...

"Knight-commander, if I may…I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army." He said softly. "I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. Irving spoke highly of this mage, and I would like him to join the Warden ranks."

Greagoir's face reached an unprecedented flushed level. "What? You've promised him a new Grey Warden?"

"Alim has served the Circle well." Irving replied, evading the question. "He would make an excellent Grey Warden."

Duncan nodded, and stood next to Alim, smiling slightly at the young man. "We look for dedication in our recruits. Fighting the darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else."

 _'Even at the expense of friends and lovers,'_ he thought sadly.

"I object!" Greagoir cried, stepping closer to Duncan. "You say he operated under your instructions, Irving, but I do not trust him. I must investigate this issue, and I will not release this mage to the Grey Warden."

Alim turned to Irving. As much as becoming a Grey Warden was an honor, he could do so much more to benefit mages here. "But I am a mage, my place is here." He said softly, thinking of Leorah.

Irving placed his hand on the young student. "This tower is not the place for you. You have...a truly rare gift that must not be squandered."

Leaning in, he whispered. "Your time is just beginning. The Grey Wardens offer a chance for something more. Take it."

Alim turned away thoughtfully, he knew what Leorah would say in this situation, and as much as he would like to go to he for council, he knew that he did not have the time.

Duncan had turned his full attention to the stubborn Knight-Commander. "Greagoir, mages are needed. This mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood-mages, you know that. I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for his actions." He held out his hand to seal the vow.

Greagoir muttered darkly, staring at Duncan's hand. "This mage does not deserve a place in the Order."

"Why? Do we not reward service? This mage has served the Circle well." Irving turned back to Alim. "You have an opportunity few even dream of, do not squander it."

Alim bowed. "You honor me... but am I to leave the tower forever?"

Irving sighed, "the tower never forgets it's apprentices, but the Grey Wardens shall be your family now. You are luckier than you know, child."

With a nod, Alim took a place at Duncan's side as the Grey Warden shook hands with a reluctant Greagoir. "Duncan, First Enchanter, may I gather my belongings and say my goodbyes?"

Duncan looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and nodded "you may, but do not tarry for too long. We must be gone by sunset."

"Thank you Commander" he said, truthfully he did not care too much about his few belongings, but he did not wish to leave without saying goodbye to Leorah.

He went to the mage laboratory first to see her and explain everything.

* * *

Once all was said and done, the two sat across from each other in silence. "Oh Alim" she started, but didn't quite know what to say, so he simply closed the distance between them and kissed her passionately.

Now that he was a gray warden recruit and not a circle mage he no longer needed to worry about getting caught.

When they separated, he leaned into her ear and whispered "I love you too."

Her eyes widened and teared up at his belated confession.

She jumped up onto still wobbly legs and grabbed him up into a tight embrace, where she could only cry bittersweet tears into his shoulder.

He smiled and set her back down into her chair.

After wishing her a heartfelt goodbye, and promising her he'd be back for her, he left to get his personal affects from his room.

Outside the door though, he met with Irving and Duncan, "Um..." he said intelligently, causing them to smile lightheartedly. "If I may, is there something wrong with that woman's legs?" Duncan asked, for he had seen many lose the ability in their legs either on the battlefield or off, so he was genuinely concerned for the older woman his newest recruit had an obvious romantic attachment to.

Alim blushed heavily and said "umm... you see, that's sort of my fault." He stammered, for he was still uncomfortable talking about these sorts of things.

Irving smiled knowingly and Duncan simply chuckled, "follow us, we have some things to give to you before you leave for your new life."

Alim looked up from the floor and followed them down the hall into his room. Once there he saw Irving handing him a beautiful silverite staff and a folded blue and grey uniform on his bed.

"This staff belonged to the hero of the third blight, an elvhen mage named Dorian Trialmont." Irving said, handing him the staff.

"And this is to be your uniform in the grey warden ranks. Our mage uniform normally doesn't have any plate armor, but seeing as Irving has informed me of your warrior training, I thought this would suit you best."

"Thank you First Enchanter, Commander."

"And with that, we shall leave you to prepare," they said as they walked quietly out of the room.

The first thing Alim did was strip out of his circle robe, not a hard task since the back was still torn wide open. He then sat himself down in front of his vanity mirror and summoned a spirit blade in the shape of small shears.

His waist length hair was well suited to a life of a quiet scholar, not a life on the road. He cut off his braid at his shoulders, and when the rest of his hair came loose of its confines, he used the shears to shape it.

When he was finished, his hair was shoulder length and swept back in a somewhat princely style.

Next, he went to his bed and picked up his uniform to change into.

It began with dark blue shirt with a lighter blue portion at the front that fastened at the left side, and formfitting dark blue trousers. Next came armored gloves and boots. The gloves were elbow length and hardened brown leather, with a steel forearm guard strapped onto the backs, and a light brown leather elbow guard extending out of them. The boots were knee length and hardened brown leather as well, with steel shin and instep guard strapped to them as well.

The uniform was belted tightly to his body by the breastplate and fauld with brown leather straps. The breastplate was two layered and covered the area from just below his neck to just below his rib cage, and the fauld was two multi-layered plates belted tightly to either side of his waist and legs, and ending just above his knees.

Wrapped around his waist was a sash-like garment that fastened in the front, and extended down in the back and ended like a tail-coat just above knee-level.

Wrapping around his shoulders was a dark blue shawl, like on his circle robes, but this one had a high, stiff collar and extended down into sleeves strapped to his arms and tucked into his gloves. The shawl had scale mail stitched into it, and multi-layered plate mail strapped to the shoulders and upper arms, and a griffon shaped plate was hinged to the left.

He had read many books about the grey wardens, and thus could tell that his outfit was more or less a combination of the mage and warrior warden uniform. It was, at it's base the mage uniform, with the breastplate, fauld, gauntlets, greaves and shoulder guards of the warrior uniform. Where the warrior uniform had two ornamental plates hinged to the shoulders above the shoulder guards, his own uniform sported a griffon shaped plate on the left shoulder instead of the regular outermost plate.

Picking up his staff, he left his room and met with Duncan who promptly and silently exited the tower and made the journey across the lake to the docks. As they made their way down through the tower, whispers of the other mages and eerie slit-eyed stares of the templars, Alim knew there would always be a plus to living with the Wardens.

No templars.

* * *

Alim's new staff is the one in the Magi Origin concept art.

(1) The terms chain-mail and scale-mail are misnomers. What people call chain-mail is metal rings interlinked with each other to form an armor piece, and what people refer to as scale-male is this with metal scales riveted to it. Both of these are just called mail.

(2) A lame is a solid piece of sheet metal used as a component of a larger section of plate armor. Multiple lames are riveted together or connected by leather straps or cloth lacing to form an articulated piece of armor that provides flexible protection.


	5. Road to Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning; there is a flashback in this chapter that is not for the feint of heart.

It had been three days since they had departed from the tower, and the capital city of Denerim could be seen as a silhouette on the horizon.

Duncan sat in silence, studying the soup that was bubbling slightly over the fire. All Grey Wardens learned basic outdoor cooking, and soup was one of the most common meals because it was easy to make and had a lot of nutritional value, depending on the ingredients. It also gave the cook time to think; especially if they had done it so many times before that the process became automatic.

Thinking was what Duncan was doing right now, considering the new Warden recruit he had conscripted at the Circle Tower.

Duncan glanced up, studying the young elf named Alim Surana. Most recruits were taken in their twenties or thirties, but at first glance Alim didn't look to be a day over eighteen or nineteen. This was deceptive, of course. Elves always looked younger than they were, this was most likely a holdover from the days that they were immortal. However, it was his eyes that stuck out to him. They, different from the face around them, looked far too old.

That made sense, considering that Alim had barely escaped the mess at Kinloch Hold with his life and was smart enough to realize that that was the case.

 _'No,'_ Duncan thought, carefully pulling the pot off the fire and setting it aside to cool for a moment. _'There is more far too it than that.'_ Alim's eyes had seemed too old from the moment he had first seen them, the young elf had just been better at hiding it at the time. Duncan supposed that he shouldn't be surprised, he had seen a similar look during his time with Fiona, an elven mage from Orlais who he had worked with when in his younger days.

Duncan had never entirely believed the Chantry's propaganda about magic. True, it could be dangerous if misused, but so could a sword, and there were far greater threats in the world than mages.

"Alim," Duncan called, pouring the soup into two smaller bowls. The young man glanced up, letting the small stone drop into his hand before he threw it to the side as he stood and came over to Duncan's fire. He thanked Duncan quietly as he took the bowl of soup. The silence extended for a moment before Duncan broke it.

"What were you doing over there?" he asked, referring to the stone. Alim glanced up, and it took him a moment before he realized what Duncan had meant.

"Oh, this?" he asked, kinetically lifting the stone from the ground for a moment. Duncan nodded. "It's a magical exercise. It is designed to teach apprentices how to completely control their magic by using telekinesis to levitate small objects. I find it… calming. I have to focus so much on what I'm doing so that I don't have space in my mind to think."

"I was under the impression that levitation was relatively easy," Duncan said. Part of his interest was, in fact, curiosity. However, he also wanted to get a better feel for how Alim thought.

"Levitating, yes," Alim answered. "But levitating for long periods of time, levitating a sword and actually fighting with it as if you had a third limb, or even levitating oneself to give the illusion of flight, is more difficult. Especially the last exercise, I still haven't managed to succeed there, and I can't fight with a levitated sword for more than a few minutes" He glanced up, studying Duncan. "Why do you ask?"

"It is my duty as Warden Commander to understand the people under my command," Duncan said. "This is especially important for recruits who have had… traumatic backgrounds."

"How does learning about Circle exercises help you understand me, ser?" Alim asked.

"It's not so much the exercise itself as how you use it," Duncan answered. "You seem to know a great deal about these particular exercises, indicating that you have been using them as calming exercises for quite a while. This along with your pointed comments to the First Enchanter, make me suspect that there is something that happened at, or before you arrived at, the tower that continues to affect you."

Alim's eyes widened as Duncan continued, "and, judging from the fact that Irving didn't mention anything to me, you haven't talked about whatever happened to anyone." Duncan paused, giving Alim a chance to respond. When he didn't, Duncan continued. "Please understand, Alim, now that you have joined the Grey Wardens, you must leave behind not only your previous attachments, but also your previous prejudices and quarrels. As a Grey Warden, you will be expected to work alongside many different people, even those who may have wronged you in the past.

"You cannot let your personal feelings get in the way of your duty, which is to defeat the Darkspawn and the Blight. Do you understand?" Alim nodded, perhaps slightly sullenly. Duncan let his voice soften, he had made his point "I know it's hard, Alim. After all, we are still mortal. Hopefully no situation arises that you will really need what I am telling you. Also, know that if you want to talk about your problems, myself and the other Grey Wardens are willing to listen, please do not hesitate to come to us if you ever want to talk.

You should know that a warrior free of burdens fights much better than one who carries such heavy burdens on his shoulders."

Alim studied Duncan for a moment before nodding again. "I'll consider what you said, commander." Duncan smiled slightly, not the best response he could have gotten, but much better than the usual one.

"Good, and please just call me Duncan."

"But, you are my superior. I could understand when I was still a Circle mage, you had no authority over me at that point, but now I follow your orders."

"That is true, but I have always preferred not to be called as such. It makes me feel old." Alim raised an eyebrow slightly, but smiled and agreed. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Alim's mind started to wander.

* * *

**_Flashback_ **

_Alim sat across from Leorah and sighed, he had just finished explaining to her the situation with Jowan and Irving, and that he was to leave the tower to become a warden, and he was worried about her response._

_Would she lash out at him, angry that he had lied to her, and used her, in a way, to complete the task Irving had given him? Or would she praise him for completing his first and last official task as a circle mage and managed to become a warden?_

_He didn't know, and her silence was eating at him. "Oh Alim" she started, but didn't quite know what to say, so he simply closed the distance between them and kissed her passionately._

_Now that he was a gray warden recruit and not a circle mage he no longer needed to worry about getting caught._

_When they separated, he leaned into her ear and whispered "I love you too."_

_Her eyes widened and teared up at his belated confession._

_He smiled at her warmly "I'll come back for you, I promise" he whispered, but she simply shook her head. "No Alim, you may come back, but not to me. You are a Gray Warden now, but I am still a mage of the circle._

_"Even before all this I knew things between us wouldn't work." He shook his head, "we could-" he started, but she halted his denial with a finger to his lips "-no. I love you, but there's a whole world out there, begging to be explored, but you and I both know that that world isn't for me."_

_Alim's eyes softened, she was right, and he knew it. "You don't belong to me anymore" she said starting to tear up, "I..." she sniffed and jumped up onto still wobbly legs and grabbed him up into a tight embrace, where she could only cry bittersweet tears into his shoulder._

_"Now go..." she said, her words muffled by his shoulder, "and be the best gray warden you can be."_

_He could only nod, trying too hard to hold back his own tears to say anything._

_He no longer wanted to leave, no longer wanted to leave her, but he knew that duty compelled him to, and it was his duty that told him he couldn't come back for her._

_He told himself that when this was all over, he would try with everything that was in him to find a way around 'duty', he would do everything he could to see her happy again._

_**End Flashback** _

* * *

"Duncan, didn't you say that Ostagar was where the Darkspawn were attacking?" Duncan nodded.

"Yes, but we have to pick something up from Denerim before we go. It won't take long, and the fighting has not yet begun at Ostagar. That being said, we should not dawdle, either."

"What are we picking up?" Duncan shook his head slightly.

"Just something for your Joining. I'm afraid I cannot reveal what it is just yet." Alim opened his mouth, but Duncan interrupted. "Nor can I explain what the Joining is. You'll find out soon enough."

Alim was curious, but knew it was better to curb his tongue, so he remained silent and finished his soup.

Once done, they put their supplies away in their packs and climbed onto the horses that Duncan had rented from the stable at the Lake Calenhad dock and rode off along the side of the imperial highway.

* * *

 _'It's been so long since I was here,'_ Alim thought to himself as he and Duncan entered Denerim.

The Chantry in this city had been where he was initially taken after his magic was discovered, before being taken to the Tower.

Duncan lead the way through the crowded market, ignoring the many cries of merchants hawking their wears, and the babble of shoppers moving between stalls, considering items and haggling with the shopkeepers. Alim followed closely behind, keeping an eye out for the pickpockets he knew haunted the area. Duncan slipped quietly into an alley, and made a few turns before arriving at an old warehouse. He turned to Alim.

"Stay here for the moment. I'll be out before too long." With that, he entered the warehouse. Alim, meanwhile, leaned back against the wall, making sure to keep a hold of the reins.

"Hey knife-ear!" called a sneering voice, "what are you doing out of your dump." Alim glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the sight of three human men approaching from another alley. All three looked rough, none of them were carrying large weapons but probably had knives stashed from the roguish look of them. No armor, just dirty clothes. If it came to a fight, Alim gripped his staff harder with his right hand and gripped the reins with his left.

"Yeah," another of the men snickered, approaching Alim "this here alley is too good for the likes of you." Alim raised his eyebrow. His armor bearing the gray warden crest, though dusty from his time traveling, was still far cleaner than these ruffians' rags.

The three had formed a half circle and the man in front was invading Alim's personal space.

"Gentlemen" Alim said sardonically, "I would not recommend annoying me. In case your tiny brains cannot piece together the meaning of my uniform and my staff, I feel I must inform you that I am a mage, and gray warden at that.

"I will not hesitate to act if you throw the first blow, but not until then. So I suggest that you leave me in peace."

The first man snorted, though Alim noticed a spark of fear in his eyes at the insinuation that he was biting off more than he could chew, but he kept up his bravado in front of his companions. "Even if you are one of those freaks, we still have you cornered. Now I recommend that you give those cloths to whatever warden you stole them from, apologize to your betters and get back to the Alienage before we lose our tempers."

Alim rolled his eyes, he had to prevent himself from antagonizing them further when the thug to the leaders right said "dirty little knife-ear thinks he can talk to us like that, and pretending to be a warden no less. The nerve..."

He didn't particularly mind the insult, but it made him pay closer attention to him if nothing else. He was Leorah's age, but looked far older from all the stress lines and the grey balding hair, and he had a scar stretching from just above his right ear to the left side of his jaw.

A scar that he recognized, clear as day. His eyes widened as he thought of that day, the day before he awoke in the circle tower.

"You!" He pointed his crackling staff at him menacingly, causing the three of them to back away in fear.

He could clearly see a glint of recognition in the man's eyes at being singled out by the elf. Dark skin and silver hair were not a very common combination after all.

"Is there a problem, here?" Duncan said as he exited the warehouse. The three started, staring at the armed and armored man that had suddenly appeared. Alim, meanwhile, lowered his staff and reined in his rage at seeing that man again.

"No problem, ser," the man with the scar said, worried that the elf would rat him out to the authorities. "This little knife-ear was just giving us some lip, we'll deal with him."

"I think not" Duncan said coldly, "you see, I am a Grey Warden, and this is my recruit. Now I ask you kindly to leave us be."

Two of the ruffians seemed inclined to follow Duncan's instructions. The scarred man, however, because of either stupidity or a misguided belief in his own superiority, stayed put. "I feel sorry for you Grey Wardens if a murderous knife-ear is the best you can get. I'd be doing you a favor if I killed it."

Alim had had enough. With a hiss of rage, he thrust out his left palm, throwing all three men away from him in a wave of telekinetic energy. The two "smart" ones got the message, and fled. The third let out a roar of rage and sprang to his feet, drawing a knife. Alim raised his hands, fire licking at his fingers.

"Come one step nearer, and I swear I'll kill you, you son of a bitch." Alim growled furiously. The man looked like he was seriously considering doing just that but was too proud to run from an elf, so Alim turned to Duncan and swallowed his pride.

He really wanted to kill the man who's name he refused to utter, even in his own thoughts lest he unintentionally put some curse on him out of sheer hatred, but he knew that the wardens didn't need any more enemies with their already tumultuous position in Ferelden.

"Duncan, that man... we must take him to the guards." Duncan rose an eyebrow at the recruits request, but that 'murderous' comment had him curious. "Why is it you wish this? I don't believe I was in that warehouse long enough for him to have done anything unforgivable to you."

"I-" he started, but had to swallow the lump in his throat "-it has to do with what you asked me at camp. I can't say anymore, I'm too angry, and he'd probably just get off on hearing about it."

Duncan furrowed his brows in thought, but upon looking at the man he thought that he did recognize him from somewhere.

Saying nothing, Duncan picked up the man by the arm and ignoring his shouts of protest, and pulled him along to the guard captain. After some words exchanged between the two, the guard captain spat in disgust and ordered the man carted off to Fort Drakon.

He could only smile smugly, knowing that the man had finally gotten what was coming to him. The guards at Fort Drakon were not exactly kind to their prisoners.

"Let's go, Alim." Duncan said quietly, leading Alim away from the marketplace. They walked in silence for a time, in case the other two men decided to ambush them. Eventually, however, Duncan spoke. "I feel there's a story behind your actions. Would you like to talk about it? Why you were so angry at that man?"

"…Sure. Now that he's finally facing punishment for what he's done, I feel I can finally talk about it. It has to do with how I was sent to the Circle…"

* * *

**_Flashback_ **

**_(WARNING: Skip ahead if you are feint of heart, don't say I didn't warn you.)_ **

_Alim, seven years old, slipped silently through the cornfields of Lothering near the house his family stayed in. He looked slowly around, as if searching for something, or perhaps someone._

_"Got ya!" a girl squealed from behind him and he was tackled to the ground. He struggled for a moment, but found he couldn't get away without hurting the person holding him._

_"Ok, you win Seri" he groaned and she rolled off of him. He looked over at his cousin, a cute six year old with pale skin and golden hair. He dusted himself off as she giggled._

_"How many times have I won again?" she asked mock-sweetly and Alim tried to glare at her, but started chuckling, unable to stay mad at her for very long._

_"I've lost count too, I blame your mother." Serade Trialmont was Seri's mother and Alim's aunt. The woman was a talented warrior, having married one of the town's templars and he then taught her all he knew so she could defend herself, and she seemed determined to teach Seri and Alim to be the same, but it was clear to all that Seri was the more talented of the two._

_"Well, well. What do we have here?" a cold adult voice said. Both Alim and Seri turned, spotting a group of humans standing casually around. Alim slowly pushed Seri behind him, never letting his eyes leave the smirking human leading the group._

_"It looks like a couple of rats have wandered out of their hole." He turned slightly, grinning to his comrades. "What do you boys say? Up for a bit of sport?"_

_"Run!" Alim hissed and the shivering Seri nodded, taking off toward their home, it was their hope that if these men recognized Ser Bryant's home they would quit the chase. They heard the sound of the humans giving chase. Alim and Seri knew this area well enough to duck and dodge around the farmhouses that dotted the place, having played tag quiet often._

_However, their short legs simply could not match those of the fully-grown humans. Alim desperately pushed forward, hoping against hope that some miracle would save them._

_There was a flash of flying metal, and one of the hunters fell, a throwing knife sticking out of his leg. At the end of the alley stood Serade, fury etched into every line of her face. Drawing her arming sword and kite shield, she advanced._

_"GET AWAY FROM MY BABIES YOU BASTARDS!" she yelled, driving the humans back with the sheer force of her will. Alim and Seri quickly took refuge in their house._

_They huddled in a corner and clung tightly to each other, trying to drown out the sounds of battle coming from outside._

_As skilled a warrior as Serade was, there were just too many of them. She managed to take down most of them, but in the end three of them managed to overwhelm her._

_The two children screamed when the door was blown open and Serade, bloody and whimpering in pain, was thrown through. The men limped through the doorway and picked up the whimpering form of Serade "it's time we showed you your place, you knife-eared bitch!"_

_"MOMMY!" Seri wailed, rushing forward to her mother. Alim could only stare_ 'no… no this can't be happening.'

_The men caught the girl and restrained her "the kids come to" the leader said, and his followers thoughtlessly complied. One of them carried the whimpering Serade up the stairs, one of them carried a struggling Seri, and the leader saw to him personally._

_He struggled and tried to bite the man as he grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up the stairs. He could only cry as they passed two ajar doorways, through which he could hear Serade and Seri's screams._

_The man threw open the door of threw him in against the bed. He turned and slammed the door behind him, and Alim was rattled by the action, which caused the silver chain necklace with a Chantry sunburst pendant around his neck to fall off. Shakily he reached for it, clasping it between his small hands before he was pulled from the bed. The large man forced him to his knees, face pushed roughly against the sheets._

_Alim was stripped, his clothing being ripped roughly from his small form. He knelt compliantly, grasping the pendant of his necklace as if it were his lifeline._

_"Turn, boy," said the man, his tone leaving no room for interjection._

_His eyes narrowed as Alim felt a shiver run though his body. He stifled the urge to cover himself as he turned on both knees, hands clasped around his back. The youth averted his eyes when he saw that the man had dropped his pants, grinning with a perverse laugh._

_Deep chuckles could be heard with the shuffle of feet, forcing Alim to look up at his captor._

_"Open your mouth," he said._

'No... I don't want to...no...' _Alim complied despite himself, parting his lips. His mouth was stretched open as sweaty mass of flesh entered, tongue burning with a sour taste. His throat closed as he gagged on the mass, saliva collecting on the sides of his mouth._

_"Gagging already? Heh...Don't worry. You'll learn..." the voice was coated with honey, but it hardly masked the true nature of the words._

'No, I want to do this. I won't!' _Fingers cradled the pendant gently as Alim thought out a fervent prayer. Once finished he opened his jaw as wide as it would go, clamping down on the object as hard as possible after._

_The events to follow were pure hysteria. Alim eventually found himself face down on the bed, enduring immense physical punishment. His skin burned from the lashes as he strove to remain still, waiting out the pain._

_"You will learn to obey me!"_

_Alim cried, quieting any sniffles that collected in the back of his throat._ 'Maker... oh please Maker. Please...'

_The punishment ended as his grip loosened on the pendant. He thanked the Lord, believing that he was safe for now. But such bliss was short-lived as the unbearable urge to vomit rose within him. Alim's body froze, his spine protesting against the mass pressing against his insides._

_His body ached all over, protesting against every sensation flooding his veins._

'Maker no...no please. Don't let this happen to me. Why me? Why?!'

'But wait...' _there was still the Maker. The Maker was there, hearing his silent screams._

'Maker...' _thought Alim, clutching the disc in both hands._ 'Maker please...grant me one wish...'

_He pleaded silently with the Lord, he pleaded for all this to end. That he would awaken from this nightmare and he would go play with Seri while Serade and Ser Bryant watched from the porch._

_An unfamiliar emotion began to fill him up at the unceasing agony coming from his backside, an emotion directed at the pain he felt for causing him such distress, at the man and his followers in the other rooms for destroying his life, at the Maker himself for ignoring his prayers and letting this happen._

_Hate._

_He never felt true hatred before, childish anger certainly, but never this. His hatred began to grow, he felt something begin to awaken and move within him. Something... warm and welcoming, something that promised to stop this._

_He gave in to that feeling, and it began to grow inside him till he felt as if he were about to burst!_

_The man convulsed above him suddenly, and his eyes widened as he felt a white hot liquid erupt into his bowels with such force that it made his eyes pop. That was the lest straw, as the feeling inside him burst forth from his body bathing the entire house in a purple glow._

_"DAMN YOU ALL!" he screamed, and suddenly, an aura of fire rose up around him scorching the walls, ice began to coat the walls only to be melted by the fire only to freeze again, water began to burst from the well near the house like a geyser, all around the village the trees began to lean heavily as the wind blew in a fierce gale and the earth began to shake causing the house and those surrounding it to slowly fall apart._

_His eyes glowed a pure and furious white with the light of the heart of the fade and he squeezed his amulet so hard that it shattered._

_"What the fuck… this kid's a mage!" the man shouted, backing away. Alim walked menacingly out of the room after him, the act of god that he had conjured lashing out at anyone who approached his cousin and deceased aunt, staying away from them and sparing them further pain. He heard screams of pain, which was good. These evil people should suffer for taking his aunt from him!_

_The basement was full of swords, his aunt's private collection. They reacted to the magic field he had summoned and burst through the floor and surrounded him in a whirlwind of steel. One of the swords reacted to his anger at his rapist and flashed forward to cut him across the face. The man fell to the ground in pain and glared at him through the haze of his own blood._

_However, Alim simply didn't have the stamina to keep it all going. Before long, his sight started to dim. He fell slowly to his knees, still trying to strike out at the humans, but not having the strength. He watched the murderers flee, his cousin shake Serade's lifeless body, and in through the door ran Bryant._

_Just Bryant, he was no longer Ser. The Maker had abandoned him to his torment, and he no longer believed._

_It didn't help that the templars, the Maker's 'instruments of divine justice' were too late to stop any of this from happening._

_He glanced around him at what had happened, and then walked over to crouch beside Alim._

_"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I should've been here sooner. I never thought this would happen. I'll take you to people who will look after you, and I'll make sure Seri get's the treatment she needs and Serade... a proper burial." He lifted Alim up as the boy slipped into unconsciousness._

_**Flashback End** _

* * *

"… After that, I woke up at the Tower. I later learned that that man had gotten away from punishment by claiming that he was innocent, and that it was all an uncontrolled burst of accidental magic from an elven child." Alim finished. He and Duncan had left the city, and were heading south on the old Imperial Highway to Ostagar. Duncan was silent, his gaze haunted.

"Of course he got away with it. I was just an elf child, a mageling no less, and he was a human. Of course the authorities took his story at face value instead of investigating. That was also the day I stopped respecting the Chantry, of course the things the people at the tower did to us mages didn't help with that."

He was startled out of his spiteful musings when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked over to see that Duncan was giving him a reassuring look. He stopped talking and looked down to his horse's neck.

Duncan and Alim continued their journey silently, each lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

Almost a week later, with Ostagar a not too far now, Alim awoke to the sensation of Duncan shaking him by the shoulder. "Duncan-"

The older Warden silenced him abruptly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The camp is in danger and we are about to be attacked. I need you to stand watch over the horses. If I am to fall, you are to ride to Ostagar with all haste and inform the other Wardens of what has transpired. Do as I say!"

Heeding Duncan's words, Alim quickly took up his staff, heart pounding with tension. He would have liked to eat something before any fighting was to be done, but the urgency of the Commander's tone suggested that there was simply no time. Drawing forth his longsword, Duncan covered it in ashes from the fire pit to dull the shine of the blade. "I'll be back shortly. Stay quiet, and stay safe, and this is for you" he ordered, giving him a hand-and-a-half sword and darting into the darkened woodlands that surrounded their camp.

He studied the sword for a moment, it was quite beautiful, even sheathed as it was. The scabbard was a dark blue leather outer layer with a wooden under layer with the gray warden standard set at the base, and hilt was dark blue leather with a long silverite bell-shaped pommel, and the guard was silverite as well with a slight curve facing toward the blade, what looked to be elvish writing inscribed in it and a small oval dark blue gemstone fit into the center.

He strapped the sword to his belt and unsheathed it with his left hand. The blade was silverite as well, but with a bluish glow in the moonlight, and was a good length, with a leaf shaped blade that came to a distal tapered point, and had a thin fuller running down the length to get rid of any access weight.

In short, it was the most beautiful sword he had ever seen.

Alim stood next to the horses, forcing himself to breath slowly and stretch out his limbs in preparation for battle. Until his recruitment, he had never been outside of the Tower's walls, so the sights and sounds of the countryside were largely alien and unfamiliar, particularly after nightfall, where darkness and weariness worked to befuddle the mind.

For the first few nights, everything was a source of peril; the wind whistling through the trees became bounty hunters and templars intent on slaying him, the rustling of small animals through the undergrowth became darkspawn, ready to pounce. Time had taken the edge off, but now, roused from slumber and facing peril, the fear returned.

He now understood how dwarves coming to the surface for the first time felt, going barefoot and gripping the ground with their feet out of fear that they would fall into the sky, jumping at every unfamiliar sound thinking it was some alien threat.

Blood pounding in his ears, Alim willed himself to calm as he peered into the night. The fire had long gone cold, but his elven eyes saw in the dark well enough and he could see neither hair nor hide of an enemy. Refusing to relax his vigilance, the elf considered how Duncan, with his lesser senses, could have known of a foe's presence when he did not.

Simple experience? Had he been so weary as to be oblivious to the world around him, even in sleep?

Then he caught the smell; a rank, vile odor, the combination of spoiled milk, rotting meat and vomit. An instant later, Alim heard limping footsteps on fallen leaves, a thick gurgling cough, broken only by deranged mutterings as the figure staggered into the clearing.

It was a human, a farmer by the looks of him, his practical garb soiled with dirt and blood. A chill ran up Alim's spine as he saw the newcomer's face; pale white with black veins pushed against the skin, blotchy and pallid and covered with weeping sores. Tainted yellow eyes stared in the elf's direction, while blackened saliva ran down his jaw to stain the grass. "It's so beautiful," he muttered, raising arms covered in lesions. "It's so wonderful to hear…"

"Who are you, ser? What's wrong?" Alim asked, raising his blade in a defensive stance. This man was very, very sick, and as much as he wanted to give aid, Duncan's warning was fresh on his mind.

"It's the song!" ranted the human, coughing forth a fresh batch of saliva. "I hear so much now, I understand everything! The whole world, united in song! It will be beautiful!"

"What song?" demanded Alim. Behind him, the horses whinnied in fright. "I have some medicines that might help, ser, but you need to stay right where you are." For all of his bravado, he had never killed anyone before, ghoul or no, for it was clear that was what this man was. The thought of doing such, even to a ghoul, made his stomach turn.

"You do not understand, you do not listen!" barked the pitiable creature. A chunk of hair fell from his skull, and he shambled forward, reaching behind his back. "But I will make you listen."

The knife emerged, a crude, rusted thing, blade sodden with blood. "Stay back," Alim warned, aghast at the sight. Had Duncan fallen, silent and unnoticed in the darkness?

"This is your last warning. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Stand down."

The vile stench accompanying the stranger increased many-fold, and Alim turned to see a half-dozen more emerge from the night to surround him; men and women, all bearing the same sickness. "We will make you listen," the first snarled, rushing forward headlong. "Listen listen listen listen listen listen listen LISTEN!"

The blow was poorly directed, a mad slash that Alim quickly dodged before running the assailant through with his sword before he kicked him off the blade. But then the others were upon him, lashing out with shovels and pitchforks and blacksmith's hammers, frenzied, wild, driven insane, completely unconcerned with self-preservation. They were beyond reason, beyond saving.

Only one course of action left.

Alim met their advance, sweeping his staff and knocking a few to their backs, twirling the blade and driving it into one. Shockingly, the madman seized the guard and pinned the sword into his own body. Alim fought to retrieve it, but the foe had a strength that was utterly unnatural for someone so sick and mortally wounded, even more so considering his own willowy frame, and the third of their number lunged for the elf, hands closing around his neck. "You will listen!"

Gasping for each breath, the air now rank with their rot, Alim dropped the staff and punched his assailant straight in the mouth, once, twice, thrice, sending him spinning away, spitting black blood.

He was too shocked by the sudden and horrifying situation to even think to use his magic.

But there was more, always more, swarming him, burying him under the weight of numbers, the night split with the sounds of their insane ranting, the scream of the horses and the elf's cries of defiance. His belt knife shone for a moment before he plunged it into a foe's heart, and he was dimly aware that whatever ague had affected them so might be contagious…

And then the pressure suddenly lifted as Duncan appeared, left hand ripping one of the attackers off him while the longsword in his right impaled the lunatic. The remaining three abandoned Alim and launched themselves at the older Warden but Duncan was too fast, and three severed heads fell to the ground. "Are you alright?" Duncan asked, pulling Alim to his feet. "Have you suffered any wounds? Did any of their blood enter your mouth, anything of that nature?"

"No, I don't think so," Alim replied, quickly running his hands over his body to check. but then it dawned on him, he was not wearing his gloves or boots, not having had the time to put them on when he awoke. There was a long jagged cut on his palm that would surely scar, but the mere pressing concern was the black blood seeping from it. Thinking back, the ghoul who grabbed his sword must have done it when he was focused on freeing the one at his throat.

"I owe you my life, but this is going to ruin my whole day" he said, showing his hand to Duncan. "This looks serious, but fortunately I know of a cure."

"What is the cure?" Alim asked, but Duncan simply turned away.

"You are to be a Warden, Alim Surana," Duncan replied, striding over to the final attacker who was still lying on the ground and spitting out broken teeth. Rearing up, he made to attack, only to be cut down with a quick slash. Duncan, the elf noted, was fairly splattered with the ink-black blood of their attackers, but seemed to pay it no heed, making him think that gray wardens must have some level of immunity, and it became apparent to him what the cure was. It seemed there had been more out there, all of which Duncan had dispatched. "The Wardens look after their own."

"What in the Maker's name was wrong with them? They were utterly out of their minds!"

"Ghouls," Duncan explained _'as I thought'_ he thought sourly. "Men and women infected with the darkspawn taint. It strips them of their reason, their sanity, everything but the will to serve their dark masters. There should not have been any this far north…"

"Could something have happened to the forces at Ostagar, then?"

"Unlikely. If they were either destroyed or forced to retreat, then we would know. There is only one truly efficient route for the horde to take in order to enter Ferelden from the Wilds, but there are passes acceptable for small bands such as this. We should be cautious."

"Agreed," said Alim, suppressing a shudder of fear at what would happen to him if they delayed. "We should leave this place immediately, in case more arrive."

"Yes" Alim muttered, calming the horses before throwing his things together. Within minutes, they were gone, speeding into the darkness as safely as they could manage, the blood and bodies of the ghouls the only signs of their passing.

"So-" Duncan started "-did you find any difficulty wielding that sword?"

"No, should I have?" he asked, confused by Duncan's question.

"That sword is of elven make, and as you have perhaps read elven swords of such high quality are ensorcelled to only allow a blood relative wield them." Alim nodded, he had indeed read about such things, but wondered where Duncan was going with this and who the sword previously belonged to.

"I didn't know if you would be able to wield it or not, but it was a thought I had when I was at the warehouse in Denerim. That sword once belonged to Garahel, and Shartan before him." Alim's eyes widened considerably at the implications of Duncan's remark.

"Shartan's sword... then this is Glandivalis?" he asked, "no. That sword is Glamdring, Shartan had more than one sword, you know." Duncan chuckled, leaving Alim in awed silence.

* * *

Three days later, they crested a small hill, and Alim first laid eyes upon Ostagar.

A thousand years earlier, the Tevinter Imperium had stretched across the boundaries of the known world, an empire fueled by dark magic and slavery, and commanded by the twisted magisters. The Imperium had advanced in every direction, seeking new lands to conquer and resources to exploit, before eventually finding their way to the edge of the Korcari Wilds, a strange and inhospitable wilderness at the suthern edge of Thedas.

Even for the Tevinters, with their endless hunger for land, slaves and blood, the idea of conquering the Wilds ultimately proved to be unfeasible. The land was too harsh, too distant from the Imperium's settled territories, and the cold swamps and forests provided little of material value. Moreover, the Chasind Wilders that dwelt within paradoxically seemed to be both too scattered and few to make the Imperium's slave trade profitable, while at the same point being able to unify into considerable hosts to bedevil the northern invaders.

And so, the unstoppable Tevinter war machine halted their southwards advance, and to shield themselves from the Wilders, erected the fortress of Ostagar. Built high upon the cliffs overlooking the Wilds, Ostagar had repelled numerous Chasind assaults during the Imperium's reign, and had never been breached or captured by the enemies of Tevinter.

Of course, it was eventually all for naught. The First Blight had destroyed much of the Imperium over the course of nearly two hundred years, weakening its hold over the outlying territories. Andraste's Exalted March had nearly finished the job, forcing the Imperium to abandon southern Thedas before the Prophet's betrayal at the hands of her mortal husband Maferath. Ostagar had been vacated and left to rot, but even time and neglect could not bring it down.

The sight of the old fortress was breathtaking, and Alim allowed himself a moment to stare in wonder. Ostagar had been built to protect a narrow pass that led into the fertile heartland of what was now Ferelden, and he was stunned by the sheer hundred-foot walls that covered the gorge and by the numerous old towers built along the ramparts, one in particular along the eastern side of the fortress reaching several hundred feet, almost as tall as Kinloch Hold. Looking upon the old ruins, Alim suddenly felt small in the face of it.

Even a thousand years later, the fortress still held up considerably well. The craftsmanship abilities of dwarves were truly something to be respected.

"How big exactly is the army?"

"Just over ten thousand men," Duncan answered. "A considerable host, but not as large as it could be. When I left King Cailan at the assembly point, many of Ferelden's nobility had yet to commit their forces. I can only hope since the following battles, additional reinforcements have arrived to bolster our numbers."

"You mean they've already engaged the darkspawn?"

"Three times prior, and after each battle the darkspawn simply retreated into the Wilds to bolster their numbers with reinforcements emerging from the Deep Roads. By now, they look to outnumber us significantly."

"Will the forces we have be enough to stop the darkspawn? If nothing else, Ostagar looks like it can be defended."

"I do not know if our numbers are sufficient, but you are correct in your assessment of our defenses. Even a thousand years later, Ostagar is a bastion to be respected. It must be, if we are to stop the Blight."

"And what if we can't hold them here, Duncan?" Alim asked. "If the fortress is breached, then what?"

"Then Ferelden will fall," the elder Warden intoned gravely.

Leading their horses on, the two Wardens dismounted at an impromptu bastion on the eastern edge of the fortress meant to watch for threats coming along the road. The horses left in the hands of trained grooms and a report made about their recent nighttime ambush, they made their way beneath the shadow of the largest tower, a massive edifice that overlooked the entire fortress and the lands around it. "This area of the fortress has been designated as the King's Camp. The bulk of the army, along with the full-fledged members of the Order, are encamped in the valley below."

The elf's eyes widened. "The King's Camp? You mean-"

"Ho, there! Duncan!" came the enthusiastic boom, and Alim turned to witness the speaker approach, accompanied by a quartet of knights in full plate, the human's massive golden armour, silver greatsword and long blonde hair shining in the sun. For a moment, the elf froze in utter disbelief.

"King Cailan," Duncan greeted the newcomer, giving a small bow. "I didn't expect-"

"A royal welcome?" the King of Ferelden quipped, placing a friendly hand on Duncan's shoulder. He was a young man in the prime of life, perhaps about twenty-five years of age, a bear of a man standing at 6'2"-6'3", vigorous and well-built, with a confident demeanor and a lust for life.

He was the heir of Maric the Savior and a scion of Calenhad the Silver Knight's bloodline, inheriting the land that his father had liberated from the yoke of the Orlesian Empire and restored to its former glory; yet if he felt the weight of all that history and the shadow of his lineage, he gave no sign of it.

For better or for worse, Cailan was not an elder statesman or a peerless diplomat, but a fighting king, a man far more comfortable drinking with and warring alongside his soldiers than politicking with domestic nobles and foreign dignitaries. Alim felt respect for the man already.

"I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," came the wry reply.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" Cailan crowed. "The other Wardens told me you found a promising recruit. I take it this is he?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty. Allow me to introduce-"

The King gave a small snort of derision. "There's no need to be so formal, Duncan, we are to be riding into battle together, after all." Walking over, Cailan enthusiastically shook Alim's hand as if they were two old comrades finding each other again, and not a King and the lowest of his subjects. "Ho there, friend, might I know your name?"

"I am Alim Surana Your Majesty, of the circle of magi Kinloch Hold" said the elf. In ordinary circumstances, he might have considered bowing, but Cailan didn't appear to be particularly overly concerned with courtly formality.

"Pleased to meet you. The gray wardens are desperate to bolster their ranks, and I for one, am happy to help them. You said you are from the circle, I trust you have some spells to help us in the upcoming battle?"

"I will do my best of course, Your Majesty."

"Excellent, we have too few mages here and another is always welcome." Once again the large man extended his hand, and Alim reached out to shake it.

"Allow me to be the first to officially welcome you to Ostagar Alim. The wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks." He smiled widely at his king's praise.

"What is the status of the army, Your Majesty?" asked Duncan, eager to get down to business. "Have any more nobles committed their troops?"

"Troops from Highever have arrived, at long last," Cailan answered. "About a hundred men under Bryce's son Fergus arrived about a week ago. I put them to work as part of the scouting teams."

"But Teryn Cousland himself has not come?" Duncan inquired.

"No, he hasn't, and neither have the troops from Amaranthine. It's very strange; young Fergus told me that his father and Arl Howe would be no more than a day or two behind him." The King gave a shrug, as if the absence of two of his more notable vassals was a triviality. "Then again, the Coastlands are rather stormy this time of year, perhaps the weather delayed them? I'm sure they'll arrive eventually, but as it stands, I don't think we'll need any more men, not with how swimmingly the battles have been going."

"Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory," Cailan remarked mockingly, rolling his blue eyes. "We've won three battles against these monsters already, and tonight should be no different. We've been tracking the horde's advance through the Wilds, so by the time they approach the fortress, we'll be ready to send them scurrying back into their holes."

"You sound very confident of that, Your Majesty," Alim remarked evenly. The King seemed entirely at ease about the impending darkspawn onslaught, and the elf had no idea if Cailan was simply putting on a carefree front for the sake of morale, or he truly believed the Blight was no challenge to his forces.

For the sake of Ferelden, he hoped it was the former.

"Overconfident some would say, right, Duncan?" Cailan jested.

Duncan maintained a diplomatic, cautious tone in the face of Cailan's self-assurance. "Your Majesty, I'm not certain the Blight can be ended as quickly as you might wish."

"To be honest, I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There have been plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, no sign of an Archdemon."

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan inquired wryly.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding into battle with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god. But, I suppose this will have to do."

"We should return to your tent, Your Majesty," one of Cailan's bodyguards said, a heavyset man with greying hair. "Most likely Teryn Loghain will wish to review our strategies."

"Yes, Elric, of course. Sorry to cut this short, but I must return before Loghain sends out a search party," Cailan sighed in frustration. "Farewell, Grey Wardens."

As the King departed, Alim let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Well, that was unexpected."

"To an extent," Duncan explained. "King Cailan is a major ally of the Wardens in Ferelden, and is one of our strongest advocates, especially with the Blight at our doorstep. And what he says is true; they've won several battles against the darkspawn so far."

Alim caught the elder Warden's worried tone. "But at first glance, he seems to be taking it rather lightly." Duncan gestured for them to start walking into the camp, and he compliantly followed his commander.

"His glibness stems in no small part from our presence. He believes that our legend alone makes him invincible, a belief he ferments to further inspire his men. I stated before that much would be expected of you; now you see why. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual immediately."

"Is this some sort of initiation rite?" asked Alim, genuinely curious.

"Of a sort, it is also your cure. Each Grey Warden must go through the Joining in order to become a full member of our Order. For the moment, I cannot tell you more. Suffice it to say that we do what is necessary."

Alim frowned as he heard that most weighty of phrases. Duncan had explained a great deal about the Wardens and the darkspawn on the journey, but the Joining had never come up. Why would he have to hide it? "Very well then. What do you need me to do?"

In response, Duncan tossed him a pouch of coins. "Feel free to explore the King's Camp as you wish, all I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair; once you've prepared yourself as you see fit, find him and inform him that it's time to summon the other recruits, a knight named Jory and an archer named Deveth.

"Once that is done, the next step of your initiation begins."

"Understood, Duncan, and thank you."

"Do not thank me just yet. There are many trials left to come," the older man intoned, bowing to the recruit before he turned and walked away.

* * *

AN: One piece of Alim's past has been unlocked. My apologies that this took so long to post, I've been busy and honestly... this chapter was very difficult and painful to write... I threw up twice.


	6. The King's Camp

Crossing the bridge that spanned the gorge, Alim permitted himself a moment of rest to shake off the aches and pains of his long journey.

Leaning on the ramparts, the young elf took in the endless swamps and forests, the snow-capped peaks so tall they seemed to pierce the sky. At least a hundred feet below him in the gorge, the army of Ferelden made preparations for the coming battle. His keen purple eyes took in the barricades being assembled, companies of spearmen, pikeman and halberdiers, swordsmen of all varieties and archers and various other types of armed warriors going through various drills, while the wind was alive with the sounds of shouted orders and boastful cheers.

Further back, nestled at the northern mouth of the gorge lay a massive camp, itself heavily fortified and packed to the brim with the best of Ferelden's soldiery, along with many of their retainers, servants, stewards, priests, armorers, camp followers, laborers and all of the other non-combatants who frequently followed in the wake of such armies.

It was clear that this was an experienced and well-prepared host; had Duncan and King Cailan never mentioned those missing nobles, he doubted he would have even noticed.

He just stood there for a moment, slowly taking it all in and adjusting himself to this new life of his. He had only ever read about such things as the sights he was now witness to, and while he had a particularly vivid imagination as all mages did, it was still far more than he had been prepared for. There were more people here than he had ever seen in his life as well, making him feel slightly dizzy. While this world was much larger than what he was used to, that being the circle tower and faint memories of the countryside around Lothering.

He had to remind himself that this, Ostagar, was only a small corner of Ferelden, which was a small country on the south-east of Thedas, which itself was only the one continent of their world.

He suddenly felt very small.

* * *

She sighed, frustrated that captain Varel had seen fit to assign her with the task of picking up his custom sword from the quartermaster rather than one of the runners who frequented the camp, acting as messengers and attending to the needs of the soldiers. She ran her hands through her short hair as she walked down the ramp, she could be doing something better with her time, training, speaking with her brother or one of her few friends, drinking with her brother or one of her few friends...

She supposed that she'd better get this over with now before her captain started throwing things or whatever nobles did when they were upset.

"Hello..." she said to herself as she skidded to a stop when she passed near the bridge. Leaning forward with his hands on the railing of the bridge was a young elven man, he was obviously a mage judging from the staff, though she guessed that the armor and the rather lovely sword at his side meant that he had at least some talent as a warrior.

He was a moderate height for an elf, standing at 5'7", his frame was muscular but willowy and his eyes were large and deer-like and were a rather magnificent shade of purple. His skin was on the darker side, something not commonly seen in Ferelden, and his shoulder-length silver hair was swept back in a style that suited him nicely. His ears were long and leaf shaped.

She could see why people used the phrase knife-ear (even though she would never use it herself), as they actually looked sharp from a distance. Though she didn't find that to be a bad thing, she actually found it to rather endearing.

She bit her lip, trying to stifle the rather dirty thoughts that arose in her mind at the exotic elf who smelled of sandalwood. Once she no longer felt a growing arousal, she walked over to the bridge to have a few words with him.

* * *

"Enjoying the view?" a woman's voice asked teasingly, and Alim turned to see one of the King's soldiers approaching; a young woman with raven hair, pale skin and fade-fire blue eyes.

She wore a black high-collared gambeson/tail-coat secured in the front with leather bands and steel fasteners, and had two chantry sunbursts in gold in the back. She were three belts over her coat, one looping over her right shoulder and under her left arm, securing a single steel pauldron to her right shoulder, and two around her waist over a large crimson sash. A leather strap secured a steel shoulder guard to her right elbow, and lastly she wore a steel gauntlet on her right hand, mostly covered up by the hardened leather sheath she wore around her wrist. Her left arm, on the other hand, was unprotected save for her gambeson sleeve and a fingerless leather glove. Her upper legs were protected by steel plates that covered her thighs and knees, and on her lower legs were thick thigh-high steel-toed leather boots with belts around the upper thigh.

As odd as her outfit was, at least from his perspective, her and an assortment of weaponry was stranger. Loosely strapped to her back was a large kite shield with a golden Lion depicted on the face. Held to her back by a leather strap and a steel hook was a swordstaff with a red gem at one one housed in a wooden cage and the blade sheathed in leather. In a polished black scabbard at her left side was an ornate two-handed saber with a black and gold hilt. Last, a quiver of arrows was held to the belt on her upper back with a winged longbow lazily hooked to it.

He could safely assume two things from her variety of weapons, one; that she was very skilled in a variety of fighting disciplines, and possibly other areas, and two; that she was a somewhat eccentric person if she went around armed to the teeth at all times.

"It's not so pretty once the darkspawn swarm all over the landscape, but for the moment, it's nice enough." She said, walking up to stand beside him and leaning her arms against the railing like he was doing.

"Are you perhaps speaking from experience?" Alim asked, quite curious about this dangerous woman who carried such an odd assortment of weapons but only wore medium, roguish looking armor.

"Well, three battles worth of fighting those monsters certainly counts," she said, gazing upon him with startlingly blue eyes. "If nothing else, it certainly gives you an appreciation for the simple things in life. But where are my manners? Corporal Marian Hawke, Third Company of the King's Own," she introduced herself, offering her left hand, the one without the sharp steel gauntlets.

Alim took it, feeling her impressive strength. "Alim Surana, of the Grey Wardens."

 _'A Grey Warden too... be still my heart.'_ she thought as she fought back a blush.

Her and her sister had spent much of their pubescent years reading about Grey Warden men, most notably the elven hero Garahel, who were famous amongst the women of Thedas for their spectacular bedroom performance.

"A pleasure to meet you Alim" she said with only a small stutter. She swallowed the lump in her throat and continued more confidently "I've seen the Wardens in action since the army arrived. The King's trust is well-earned, I can say that much. If you don't mind, why are you not in the main camp with your fellows?"

"In truth, I've only just arrived," the elf admitted sheepishly. "I'm a new recruit to the Order, and our Commander, Duncan asked me to get equipped and find another Warden here in this camp."

"There's no shame in that." She said with a stunning smile that he couldn't look away from. "Everyone has to start somewhere. Well, I'd be happy to show you around. Captain Varel has me running an errand up here, so I'm heading to the quartermaster anyways."

The two soldiers fell in step, passing companies of archers drilling along the ancient bridge. "As I understand it, this is the King's Camp, correct?" Alim asked.

"Right," said Hawke. "The bulk of the army is down below, but this space on the cliffs has been reserved for the King and his entourage, along with most of the other nobles. We have the Circle of Magi here, along with a pack of those bloody Templars lurking around them." He cocked an eyebrow at her apparent dislike for templars, usually it was only mages and mage supporters who held any level of dislike for the knights of the Chantry. "Teryn Loghain is here, the Grand Cleric… If you're looking to find key figures in this army, this is the place. Myself, I'm down in the valley below at the main army camp with the 'real soldiers'" came the quip.

"So what brings a 'real soldier' up here then?" Alim replied with equal good humor.

"Captain Varel had a new greatsword forged for himself by the blacksmiths up here. The main camp has its own logistical staff, but on occasion, we've asked those in the King's Camp to help out. It's a job for a runner, actually, but the Captain wanted at least some of us to know the layout of the defenses on the cliffs in case we're ever forced to retreat."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that" he replied, thinking of what would happen if the vanguard garrison retreated from the darkspawn and what the long term implications of that were.

"Agreed. The King's Camp is very secure because the trails and paths leading up to the cliffs are narrow, winding and have their own natural defenses. It's good if the darkspawn try to storm the heights, but there's no way the army will be able to quickly retreat up them en masse. That's one of the reasons why the bulk of the army is encamped on the low ground; if the darkspawn attacked, there's no way a significant force could deploy from the heights to stop them in time."

He hummed in thought, it seemed to him to be a good, but flawed, strategy. "Before I left the tower, First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Graegoir were arguing about most of the senior enchanters having left, are they down there?" he asked, "no. I raised the issue with the higher ups, but they are still kept under lock and key in their quarantined little area of the king's camp." She said, and he could see the honest irritation in her eyes.

"Maker forbid they be allowed to use their powers for good" she muttered bitterly. It was official, he respected this woman more than he did the king now.

He furrowed his brow in thought, if the forces down below were intended as shock troops, then it would make sense to have a contingent of mages with them, their wide area spells could devastate the darkspawn ranks. Depending on the mage, a wide area spell, elemental or not, would be able to take down at least a dozen darkspawn, and that would, if nothing else, soften their forces up significantly for the archers to engage them in long to mid range, spearmen and halbardiers to engage them at mid to close range and leave the rest to the swordsmen and other close-range fighters.

"How's morale? Will the army hold?" Alim asked, dropping the subject.

"They'll hold, I promise you that," Hawke replied firmly. "The King thinks this is all going to end with one huge battle the bards will sing about for centuries, and most of the men are determined to prove him right. As for me…" The young woman gave a small shrug. "I like to hope for the best and plan for the worst. In either event, we'll have our work cut out for us," she finished, looking to him with a smile.

"Hope for the best and plan for the worst, eh? That's brilliant, can I use that?" She simply chuckled and nodded in response.

The two entered the King's Camp proper, and Alim took Hawke's tale to heart, purple eyes catching every detail possible for future reference. The mages had their own encampment on the southern side, 'quarantined' as she said, just behind the battlements, their tents hidden behind a crude palisade and surrounded by the armored sentinels of the Chantry.

Several of the mages were moving about the camp, though the grand majority of those did so under templar guard, the Chantry was as always unwilling to allow their control over the Circle to slip, even in the face of the Blight. In the face of all of this hypocrisy, he was glad he could honestly say that his heart no longer belonged to the Andrastian faith.

Further west, the young elf could hear the barking of warhounds and men crying out in pain, while groups of priests roamed around the camp, offering blessings and comfort to the assembled soldiers. To his pleasant surprise, Hawke was not the only armed woman present; more than a few soldiers were female, and were armed and armored much the same as their brothers in arms.

On the southwest side, nestled in the ruins of a collapsed dome and overlooking the valley, two great tents had been erected. The first was an opulent, lavish domicile; its rich, bright yellow silk befitting a king, while the second was a more utilitarian structure of heavy green and grey canvas. Banners flanked the entrance ways; the first tent marked with the hounds symbol of the Theirin line, while the second had standards depicting a golden wyvern on a field of green, the emblem of the Terynrir of Gwaren.

 _'That must be Loghain's tent'_ , Alim realized, thinking back to his grandfather's stories of the Teryn and his rise to power from a simple farm-boy to Ferelden's most trusted general. "Have you met Teryn Loghain, Hawke?"

"Eager to find out if the man matches the legend?" she asked him with her hand on her hip.

"Doesn't everyone?" replied Alim with genuine enthusiasm. For so many, Loghain was not merely a powerful noble, but a symbol of Ferelden's triumph; the vanquisher of the Orlesians and proof to the rest of Thedas that in Ferelden, any man could rise to greatness on the basis of his merits alone.

' _Unless you're an elf or a mage, of course'_ , he mused darkly.

"How often does one get a chance to meet one of the country's greatest heroes?"

"Touche," Hawke remarked. "Well, I've only met him once or twice, but he seems a decent man, if a bit stern. He's a very good general: he's tough, smart, knows how to inspire the men. Just don't go expecting a new drinking buddy; he's not a very sociable man, especially not these days."

"Has something in particular happened?"

"Well…" Hawke paused for a moment, blue eyes glancing about. She put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close. He blushed when he felt her breath on his ear as she started to whisper "I really shouldn't gossip, but it's better you learn this from me instead of accidentally treading on dangerous ground. From what I've heard, Loghain and King Cailan have been arguing lately about Queen Anora, and while the teryn is loyal to the king, he's also the type to stand by his daughter no matter what it costs him or anyone else. Combine that with disputes over battle strategy, and the two are not particularly pleased with each other right now."

Alim nodded in understanding, taking it all in. He had known that Cailan had been married, of course, the proclamations of a royal wedding some five years earlier had reached all of Ferelden, though they had found out little about the specifics. "So Loghain isn't merely Cailan's top general and his father's best friend, but also his father-in-law. I think I'd rather face the harrowing again than be in Cailan's place right now."

"Exactly. And he's known Cailan since the King was a babe, so they're not really the type to stand on ceremony together" Hawke elaborated. "Myself, I think one of the only reasons we're doing so well is because of Loghain's strategies. Just… be careful what you say around him."

Frowning, Alim considered the implications. The two most senior leaders of the army quarreling: if they could not resolve their differences and focus on the fight ahead, it could prove disastrous. He had always heard that the nobles of Ferelden were a fractious bunch; he just hoped it wouldn't end up costing them all in the end.

He sighed in exasperation, it was just like the fraternities but on a larger scale.

"This way" Hawke urged, and the two turned north to an impromptu supply depot. Teams of laborers, many of them elves, distributed crates full of weapons and armor to waiting soldiers, honing their blades on grindstones and repairing broken mail links. The young woman had to speak up to be heard over the constant ringing of hammers against metal. "Quartermaster Bagley? You have Captain Varel's sword ready for me?"

"Just give me a moment," the quartermaster replied irritably, engrossed in the contents of a ledger. Finally deigning to look up, the portly man gave an infuriated scowl at the sight of Alim. "You there, elf! Where's that armor I asked for half-an-hour ago? And why are you dressed so preposterously?" he demanded, stabbing a stubby finger at the elf's armor.

"Because I am a Grey Warden?" Alim asked dryly, secretly enjoying the sight of the human's face turning red with shock, "and do you treat all your servants so poorly, or is today a special occasion?"

"Oh, I, eh…" stammered the quartermaster, realizing he had said far too much. "Uh, pardon my rudeness, Grey Warden, it's just that, well, things have been mixed up a bit, and those elves that have been hired are no help at all…"

Alim gave a contemptuous snort. "Truly? Workers aren't very productive when their boss holds them in contempt, you know. I'll have you know that elves are very hard working and strong if given the opportunity to show it.

"Perhaps it would be best if you treated them better in the future, ser," the elf suggested frostily. "Now then, if you're done insulting potential patrons, I am going to need supplies, while Corporal Hawke here has to pick up a sword for her captain."

"Right right, of course. Give me a moment," babbled the quartermaster, scurrying away before they took further offense.

"Well, you definitely get results," said Hawke. "I'm rather impressed."

"I guess beautiful women inspire me," Alim jested, hoping he hadn't overstepped his bounds.

Hawke laughed, flattered. "A romantic, then? Do you think that's an advantage or a liability in a Grey Warden?"

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," replied the elf.

Ducking away for a moment, the quartermaster re-emerged mumbling excuses about cluttered inventory before passing Hawke a greatsword with a hollow area in the base of the blade that looked like it was meant to be used as a replacement for half-swording, the hilt stamped with the emblem of a bear.

He was impressed when she took it, not being weighed down by it at all. It seemed that, in addition to her skill in a variety of weaponry, she was very strong as well. She was growing to be more and more appealing to him by the moment.

"Uh, I apologize for any offense I have caused you Warden, these past few days have been very stressful is all, and I am honestly at my wits end. Again I apologize." The quartermaster said, bowing in respect. Alim thought for a moment, and seeing his apology to be genuine and that he was not just kowtowing because of his position, "you're apology is accepted. But maybe you should treat you're servant's better in the future..." he replied, offering a bow in return.

"Yes ser, I shall try to be more forthcoming in the future. Again, sorry for the confusion."

The soldier smiled as Alim passed the armory staff, elves and humans alike, some coins, oblivious to the look of contempt coming from the quartermaster. "A romantic indeed. Shall I assume that rescuing kittens from trees is next on the agenda?"

"You disapprove?"

"Hardly," Hawke chuckled. "When the threat is this big, it's so easy to lose sight of the little things, and the people fighting it. Good to see that not everyone is focused solely on death and glory."

"And what about you, Corporal? What drives you?"

"My family," Hawke stated. "My little brother is part of the Third Company as well, and watching out for him is a full-time job. Oh, if you meet him don't take offense to anything he says, he's a bit of an arse. My mother and younger sister are back in Lothering, and right in the horde's path if we fail. Just another reason to fight, right?" she said, cracking a weak smile.

"We won't fail, Hawke. If the rest of the King's army are anything like you, we'll have the darkspawn running for the hills in no time." Alim stated with all honesty.

"Flatterer," the young woman replied with a pleased smirk. "I should return to my unit. But it was nice meeting you Alim, and good luck to you."

"You as well, Corporal... Uh, may the Maker watch over you and yours." He said with some reluctance, he didn't believe but it was obvious that she did.

"He'd better, or I'll have some stern words for him. Farewell." He smirked at the way she talked about the maker _'I think I'm_ _in love'_.

"Oh, don't worry, love," a new voice interjected, and a thin human emerged beside Hawke, taking her unarmored hand and raising it to his lips.

Her smile dropped and she cocked an eyebrow.

"See I'm a Warden too, and you can count on me and my mate here keeping you safe. Of course, life is fleeting, and stranger things have been known to happen than a lovely bird like yourself getting slain by those monsters. If there are any last requests I can grant for you…"

Hawke fixed with him with a stare cold enough to snuff out an inferno. "Shall I take that as a no, then?" the newcomer asked.

A swift motion and the newcomer was on the ground, rubbing his now-tender jaw. "Interesting companions you'll have to fight alongside, Alim," said Hawke, relaxing her fist. "I'll see you around."

"Same to you, Hawke," the young elf said, smiling despite himself. "Now why did you ever think that would turn out well?" he asked the human who had so rudely propositioned the young woman, even as she disappeared into the crowd.

"He who dares wins, isn't that right?" came the reply as the human sprang to his feet.

Crude as he might have been, he did not lie; he was indeed wearing the uniform of the grey wardens, the rogue variant which showed more mail than his own, but lacked the shoulder guards, gauntlets and greaves. At his hip was a short sword with a dagger on the opposite side, while a winged shortbow and fully-stocked quiver hung across his back.

His brown eyes were quick and more than a little shifty, looking around as if he was expecting danger to come from every corner, and he looked rather uncomfortable and out of place amongst so many soldiers. "Besides, ain't people supposed to like us Wardens? Vanquishers of the Blight and knights in shining armor and all that?"

"Maybe not to that extent, Ser…"

"Daveth, just Daveth. And you're definitely not what I thought you'd be."

"Alim Surana. And what were you thinking I'd be?"

"I don't know" Daveth said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I was kinda hoping for someone blonde, buxom and near-sighted-" Alim shook his head and suppressed a laugh _'he reminds me of Anders'_ "-though knowing my luck, you'd be some great brute of a knight, all scarred up and with a penchant for violence. I wasn't expecting an elf though, and definitely not one who's better with women than I am.

"Still, good to meet you. It's about time you came along; I was starting to think they'd cooked this ritual up for our benefit."

"The Joining?" asked Alim, genuinely curious. The human might be something of a scoundrel, and likely had a rather colorful past, but he had no reason to doubt him at this juncture. "What do you know about it?" came the inquiry as the two moved away from the depot and any potential eavesdroppers.

Daveth motioned him closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "See, I happened to be sneaking around camp last night, and I heard some of the Wardens talking a bit. Sounded like they were going to send us into the Wilds."

"Any idea why?"

"Not sure. Might be a test of our fighting skills, see if we can cut the mustard as Wardens," Daveth suggested. "There's plenty of dangers in that forest; cannibals, witches, barbarians and monsters, lots of stuff to pose a challenge. Hope you're up for it. I know Jory is."

"Jory?" Duncan mentioned that he was a knight, but he was curious for any details Daveth might have had on who he was to work with.

"Ser Jory, he's the other recruit. A decent fellow for a knight. Bit stiff though, probably needs a good woman," Daveth said bluntly, turning to wave over a human in his mid-thirties. "Oi, Jory? Come over 'ere, the final recruit has arrived!"

"That is a relief," the man said, giving Daveth an odious glance, resentful at being seen near the flippant rogue. Jory was a solid, heavyset man, hair thinning away from his wide forehead, while his dark beard was meticulously trimmed around his chin, not a hair out of place. "How do you do? My name is Jory, knight of Redcliffe."

Jory wore the uniform of the gray wardens as well, but his was the far more armored warrior version. He was carrying a helmet under his left arm, and there was an ornamental greatsword on his back. What was it with humans and their need for overly large weaponry?

"Good to meet you, Ser Jory, I'm Alim of Kinloch Hold," the elf answered politely. Experience had taught him to beware human nobility and their knights, but Jory seemed like a decent fellow. "Has Daveth told you about the Joining?"

"Indeed, though it's rather strange that they would require further tests from us. We are Wardens after all, correct?" the knight posed.

"That said, I was not aware that elves could even become Wardens."

"Oh, you've done it now, mate!" Daveth cackled.

"Maybe they need to start letting in less humans." Alim rebutted, instantly defensive.

"I meant no offense," Jory stammered. "It's just that all of the current Wardens here seem to be human. Not that I've had much time to meet with them; Duncan has insisted that we recruits stay up here in the King's Camp." It was plain as a pike that Jory resented being treated as a fresh recruit, and Alim idly wondered how the pair had been recruited.

"I just can't wait to prove myself on the field" he said, eager to get underway and prove himself worthy of the standard he bore.

"Well, I'm sure that we'll be able to defeat anything we come across," Alim declared. He supposed only time would tell if either of them proved reliable in combat. "By any chance, have either of you met a Warden named Alistair?"

"Yeah, he was around here just a little while ago. Had to deliver a message to the mages," Daveth explained, shuddering visibly. "Me, I wouldn't go near those spooky types for all the gold in Denerim, but apparently he used to be a templar, so them mages shouldn't worry him."

A templar, wonderful. "Spooky types huh?" he said, and just to mess with them he held up his left hand and summoned an ethereal sword. He smirked when they backed away in surprise, he dispelled it and said "though to be fair I am mage and templar both."

"Ah, so you are a knight enchanter then?" Jory said, "knight enchanter? Not sure I've ever heard of such a thing." Daveth said to him in response.

"Knight Enchanters are mages who have been given special dispensation from the Chantry to serve in battle as well as being the Divine's bodyguards along with the knights divine. This is because they have taken steps to become templars themselves, and therefore have a resistance to the creatures of the fade that most mages lack."

He had to bite back the urge to correct him, for even though knight enchanters and templars were connected, they were not, in fact, one and the same. Templar talents came about by deconstructing knight enchanter talents and teaching the skill set to non-mages, giving rise to the popular misconception.

Of course Alim was a templar, though that was a more personal thing than any actual requirement.

"Though the willpower and control necessary to even be considered for the position are nothing short of legendary. Never thought I would actually meet one, let alone one so young." Jory explained, and he could only blush in embarrassment at the praise.

"Well look at this, the learned knight preaching to the ignorant little thief. Where have I heard that before" Daveth replied sarcastically, and Alim intervened to prevent the impending argument "thanks, I appreciate it. I think Duncan's expecting us to join him shortly, we might be getting to the Joining soon."

"Hope so, the waiting's killing me," said Daveth. "Nice to meet you, mate. If those mages turn you into a toad, try not to come near me, okay? Can't stand the things." Alim sighed, he knew Daveth meant well, but...

"Best of luck to you as well," offered Jory, frowning as a new figure approached their gathering. "Perhaps these are our orders now."

Panting, the elven messenger skidded to a halt before the Warden recruits, leather satchel flapping at his side. "Begging your pardon, Wardens, but I-" he wheezed, doubling over. "I have-"

"Bit weedy looking, isn't he?" remarked Daveth. "Hope you're a bit tougher than that, Alim."

Alim ignored the human's jibes, handing the messenger his water skin. "Stand easy, runner. What's your name?"

"It's—it's Pick, ser," the elf answered, drinking deeply.

"My name is Alim, Pick, and I'm no ser. Rest for a moment; you're no good to anyone if you've collapsed from exhaustion. Your message can wait for a few moments."

"Oh, I only wish," Pick blurted, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Teryn Loghain wants to see you, and he's not a man to keep waiting."

"An audience with the Teryn!" gushed Jory, visibly elated. "What a great honor! We should go to his tent right away."

"I'm sorry, ser Warden," the messenger spoke cautiously, "but I was told that the summons was for the elven Warden alone. He wants to see you, Alim."

 _'Well, I did hope for a chance to meet him, didn't I?'_ Alim told himself, gently refusing Pick's attempts to return his water skin. "Keep it, Pick, I have another. Daveth, Ser Jory, I'll see you back at Duncan's tent," he said, idly glancing to make sure his new armour was presentable enough. He felt nervousness stirring in his breast, and tried to force it down. _'You've met the King, fought ghouls and slew a horde of giant spiders and a rage demon. Nothing should unsettle you now.'_

As Alim walked over to the old tower housing the tents of Loghain and the King, he immediately noticed how quiet it was in comparison to the rest of the camp, the milling and chatting soldiers absent, replaced with stoic guards, hands at their weapons at all times. These were the elite knights of Maric's Shield, the King's personal bodyguards, and the elf felt more than one pair of suspicious eyes upon him as he approached Loghain's billet.

Standing before the green-and-grey tent was one of the most formidable women Alim had ever seen; tall, strong and clad in knightly garb bearing the wyvern of Gwaren. A two-meter long (if a bit thin) dragonbone greatsword was slung at her back, and everything about her demeanor proclaimed that she knew how to use it effectively. Her dark brown hair had been drawn into a short ponytail, while on another woman, her high cheekbones and wide lips would have been a sign of great beauty, but she was too cold and stern to be truly beautiful. She reminded him of Hawke in a way, but whereas Hawke was a kind and even chivalrous and diplomatic person, hers was a soul of iron; unbending and uncompromising.

He made sure to pace himself around her. He had always been attracted to strong and willful women, but he had the feeling that she would not respond kindly to any advances from anyone.

She also looked like an elitist likely to spit on anyone lower ranked than herself, as ironic as anything he had ever heard, considering that she started out as a farm hand.

Not that he would have tried with this one, infatuated with Hawke and sore over ending things with Leorah as he was.

"You approach the tent of Teryn Loghain, elf. State your business," the knight demanded, brown eyes boring holes right through him.

"I received a message that Teryn Loghain wished to see me, Ser…"

"Cauthrien of Gwaren, champion and bodyguard to Teryn Loghain," she declared bluntly and somewhat condescendingly. "You will watch your tone when speaking to him. He is not a man to be disrespected, and neither am I."

Before Alim had a chance to unleash a choice retort at her choice of words, the rustling of papers within the tent and a gruff male voice stopped him cold. "That will do, Cauthrien."

Teryn Loghain Mac Tir stepped out into the light.

 _'Hard'_ was the first word to came to mind when looking upon the teryn; hard, stern, and unyielding, much like his broadsword and tower shield.

Loghain had to be at least fifty, but age had not weakened him in body, mind or spirit, and Alim doubted if he would ever allow it to do so. From beneath great furrowed brows, dark eyes examined the Warden, looking past the crooked nose, having been broken one too many times, marked with the scars of battles and sieges aplenty, while his face was pale and drawn tight, clearly unaccustomed to smiles and laughter.

He was a hefty, solid man, bulked up further by the polished silverite plate armor he wore, a trophy of his triumph over the Orlesians at the Battle of River Dane. Everything about him suggested intense dedication and focus; he was the sort of man with no patience for fools, and would not accept weakness in himself or others, a man whose respect would only be earned, never given. He was a soldier's solder and a patriot, forged on the anvil of war, best friend of the late King Maric and the Hero of River Dane, and certainly not a man to be crossed.

"So, you are the elven Warden I've heard so much about. What is your name, ser?"

"Alim Surana, my lord, from Kinloch Hold at Lake Calenhad and formerly of Lothering," answered the elf, nodding in respect. "I was told that you wished to see me."

"I did. You are curious as to why?" Loghain asked, getting a muttered affirmation. "It is because at the end of the day, armies are ultimately comprised of soldiers. Your Order has been given a place of great honor in this host, and the patronage of the King despite your small numbers, and I intend on making sure that respect is justified.

"Cailan's fascination with the Wardens goes beyond the ordinary, so a sober second opinion of you and your fellows is needed." The Teryn frowned, eyes narrowing. Alim nodded, what the teryn was saying made a great deal of sense to him, but he seemed a bit... off. "I cannot help but feel you are familiar ser, though I doubt we have met."

"We have not my lord, but my grandfather would have been known to you," explained Alim. "His name was Elrohir Trialmont, he fought alongside you as part of the Night Elves during the Rebellion."

Loghain gave the barest flicker of a smile. "That is a name I have not heard in quite some time. A good man, your grandfather, my first lieutenant. I've never seen his equal with a bow before or since. You come from a worthy legacy, Alim Surana. Make sure you live up to it."

After the war was over, Elrohir Trialmont was given the position as Bann of Lothering, he eventually married Andriel Surana and had two children, Serade Trialmont and Elrond Surana.

"Of course, my lord. And you can rest assured that all of the Grey Wardens will work to honor the King's trust." Alim told him with all the conviction he had.

"Will you now?" asked the teryn, eyebrow raised. Duncan had mentioned there were some in the army who held the Wardens in scorn, still bitter about the end to their, in the eyes of some, well deserved exile, but Alim had hoped that Loghain wasn't one of them. It was a vain hope apparently; Loghain clearly didn't trust them. "Are you aware that the King's father brought your Order back to Ferelden?"

"I am, my lord." He read at least ten books on the subject, and detailed biographies on each and every gray warden brought back through the Ferelden borders.

"Maric respected the Grey Wardens, and they have an honored place in the hearts of our people. But Maric would have understood that battles are won by strategy and discipline, not legends, particularly those so few in number. It's not an argument I'll repeat here." He said, and Alim looked to the ground broodily, swearing to himself that he would do everything in his power to prove his trustworthiness.

"I suppose you'll be riding off into the thick of the fighting with your fellows then, will you?"

"I am a Grey Warden, my lord," Alim declared, thankful for Hawke's prior council. "For Ferelden's sake, I will go where I am needed, and do what must be done."

"Fair enough," said Loghain, turning back to his tent. "Now, I must return to my strategies for the battle tonight. You will give your commander my compliments." Pulling the canvas flaps open, the teryn moved to enter but paused for a moment. "Are you a religious man, Alim of the Grey?"

"I believe in the existence of the Maker and Andraste if that's what you mean ser, but I'm not particularly religious per say, before I went to the tower I believed, but..." he said, looking down broodily again.

"Yes, I heard about that incident." Alim had to wonder which incident he meant, the elven child who caused a house fire, an earthquake, a blizzard, geyser, a windstowm and a tornado of steel and killed his family or about the brigand rapists who caused it in the first place. "Cauthrien, with me," said Loghain, ducking into the tent. Sniffing in disdain at the elf, Cauthrien followed.

"Well, that was interesting," Alim muttered under his breath. Grandfather Elrohir had always spoken of Loghain's stubborn nature, but to experience it firsthand was something else.

Loghain might not respect the Wardens now, but for Alim, that was just another challenge.

* * *

"Alim?" the mage asked "it appears you are a gray warden now, you have my congratulations but alas I am far too busy at the moment to entertain pleasantries."

She was an elder human, perhaps in her fifties or early sixties, and her every mannerism and words seemed very deliberate, the by-product of a life of intense discipline and dedication. Alim smirked, remembering all the lectures given to him by the motherly woman. She was tough, fair, and she did not suffer fools lightly. "Forgive me, senior enchanter Wynne," the elf said respectfully to the elder wearing the green robes of a healer rather than her normal pink and red senior enchanter robes, "but I was wondering if you could help me find someone."

"Yes, you must be looking for the other recruits. Good luck to you Alim, good luck to us all, in fact. To defeat the darkspawn, we must all work together, though it is not a notion everyone seems able to grasp."

"Yes, I figured as such" Alim reiterated, experiencing a sudden flare of worry. "Have you and the other mages been treated poorly by the rest of the army?"

"Not as much as you might think," Wynne assured him. "For the most part, I find they are simply relieved to have our aid. Mages are feared, often with good reason, but that fear should not preclude us from helping others, and if it helps to forge a positive impression of mages then so much the better."

"Have you fought the darkspawn yourself yet, Senior Enchanter?" Alim asked, "stragglers, yes, but not the vast horde the scouts speak of. " Wynne pursed her lips, curious. "Tell me, what do you know of the connection between darkspawn and the Fade?"

"The Fade? I don't remember having encountered anything like the darkspawn there."

"You are correct. They do not live there, as it were. It is a place home to many spirits, some benevolent, but many less so. And in the center of it lies the Black City, once the Maker's home-"

"Until the magisters of Tevinter breached its gates and corrupted it," Alim finished, thinking back to the lectures of the Chantry. "It was the First Violation, the act that brought the darkspawn into being in the first place."

"My, it is refreshing to see that our teaching's have stuck," said Wynne, pleasantly surprised. "Too many assume that scholarly knowledge somehow unmans them."

"Well, I've always found it better to walk into a situation with eyes open" the elf reasoned, before posing the question that everyone pondered eventually. "Is the Chantry right, Wynne? Is that how the darkspawn were created?"

Believer or no, it seemed to him that the corrupted magister story was as good a theory as any, and with all of the Imperium's other transgressions against nature it was not all that far-fetched. Plus, he had seen the Black City with his own eyes upon visiting the fade.

Though he honestly doubted she would know the answer to his question.

"I cannot say that for certain young man," the mage confessed. "It may simply be allegory, a reminder that our actions have consequences. Without any reasonable alternatives, it is a good enough explanation for now, I suppose. But I doubt that Duncan wanted you to spend all your time listening to my lectures; you should prepare yourself for the battle ahead."

"Anything I can do to help you on that front?" asked Alim. "I'm supposed to find another Warden named Alistair, but I'm sure Duncan won't mind it if I took a few moments to assist the mages."

"Well said," Wynne remarked, drawing a long glass phial from a nearby pack. "Bring this to the kennelmaster; he and the hounds under his care are nearby. You won't need to return once that is done, just deliver it and he'll know what to do. As for Alistair, try the western ramparts. The message he was meant to deliver is for Senior Enchanter Ivan who has been preparing wards in that area for the coming battle."

"Thank you, Wynne. I'll deliver this right away," the elf said, taking his leave, a spring in his step. He had a thousand more questions to ask, but Wynne was right; he had work to do. Perhaps everything would turn out alright after all…

* * *

"This isn't good," mused the kennel master, examining the warhounds with an experienced eye. "I'd hate to waste such a promising member of the breed. Are you sure that this is all she had?"

"It was all she gave me," grunted Alim, staring piteously at the beasts. His good mood had lasted as long as it took to reach the kennels, quickly dissipating at the sight of so many injured dogs, many of them stricken with festering sores and lesions. The kennel master had explained that they had been infected with the darkspawn taint, and that Wynne's solution was designed only to give them a fighting chance.

Briefly, the image of the rabid ghouls ambushing them on the journey flashed before Alim's eyes, and he gave an unconscious shudder at the thought. The tales of past Blights had not truly conveyed the horror of the taint, and he'd hate to think of how many people were dying as a result of it seeping into their systems (as well as what he might himself become if left untreated for much longer, his skin was already a few shades paler), judging from the screams of agony sounding from the infirmary, far too many.

"I assume it isn't enough?"

"Well, I'll try to make it stretch, but at the rate the dogs are getting infected, there's only so much we can do. Take a look at this fellow here," he explained, gesturing towards the mabari warhound isolated in a separate pen, brown fur marred with boils and swelling. "Prime example of a mabari here, probably cost a fortune to breed. His owner was a knight from Highever who died in the last battle, and the poor fellow swallowed darkspawn blood. One of the most valuable and loyal dogs in the world, and here he is, just wastin' away helplessly. Bloody darkspawn," the human spat to the side in disgust. "It just ain't right Warden, it just ain't right."

"Forgive my ignorance, but what makes these dogs so special?" Alim asked, having not read any books about mabari before, and was sorely lacking in knowledge of them. The dog was massive, a great deal larger than the others, thickly muscled and with a set of jaws that could crush a man's skull like a chicken egg, yet it whimpered in pain like a pup.

He felt a great tug at his heartstrings at the sight. He always had a fondness for animals, but was more partial to cats like the rat-catcher at the tower.

"Mabari warhounds? Well, centuries ago, a magister bred them to be intelligent; they can understand and carry out complex orders, they can interpret our language, that sort of thing. Some people say these dogs are smart enough to talk and wise enough not to. And they're very strong; we use them in battle to rip knights from the saddle and break open enemy pike-formations and shield-walls. Only downside, depending on who you ask, is that they imprint on their owner.

"If he or she dies, then it's difficult to get them to accept a new master."

"Poor dogs," the elf said, staring at the sick hound with a mixture of horror and pity. The animal gave a miserable whine from behind its muzzle. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well, come to think of it, might you be heading into the Wilds anytime soon?"

Increasingly grateful that Daveth had chosen to confide in him, Alim gave a noncommittal grunt. "It all depends on where the other Wardens decide to send me. Why do you ask?"

"There's a flower out there in the Wilds that could help improve the dog's chances. It's very distinctive, all-white with a blood-red center, usually grows in ground pools around dead wood at this time of year," the kennel master explained. "Bring me some of those, and I might be able to stabilize their condition."

"A cure for the Blight?" Alim asked incredulously.

"It's a treatment, not a full-fledged cure. I've found that an ointment made from the flowers can help them get better, though it's hit and miss. Something like the darkspawn taint, all I can do is offer what aid I can and hope for the best. Though if they do survive the initial taint, they grow immune to it, making them valued companions for the wardens."

"Then I'll definitely keep an eye out for them," promised Alim. Without hesitation, the elf knelt down before the sick mabari, meeting its eye through the bars of the pen. "Don't you worry, boy. You'll be back to normal again in no time."

Perhaps mabari were truly as intelligent as the kennel master claimed, for the dog stretched out its front legs and almost…bowed its head in acknowledgement. "I promise," Alim repeated, giving a quick bow himself, then left, his course set.

* * *

Alistair of the Grey Wardens sighed in frustration at the mage continued to harangue him. It certainly wasn't his fault that the Revered Mother had decided to make him a messenger, nor could he change his past to make it more palatable to the mage, who considered his mere existence an insult, let alone the message he had to deliver. "I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage, she desires your presence."

"What Her Reverence desires is of no concern to me, boy," the mage shot back. "I am helping the Grey Wardens, by the king's orders, I might add!"

Biting back his irritation, Alistair tried to maintain a friendly tone. "Should I have asked her to write a note?" he asked, almost flippantly. Instantly, he could hear Duncan chiding him in the back of his mind, reminding him of the importance of keeping good relations with the rest of Ferelden, and working together with all these diverse factions.

_'Too late now, I suppose.'_

The mage gasped in dismay at this disrespect, pride obviously stung. "Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"

"So I was harassing you by delivering a message?" the young human replied snarkily. ' _Oh, Maker's breath, I've done it now. I really should have just stayed in bed this morning. "Sorry, Duncan, but I'm feeling sick, I think I might have the Blight. Grey Wardens aren't affected by the Blight, you say? Well, let's make it yellow fever then."'_

"Your glibness does you no credit."

"And here I thought we were getting along so well!" Alistair crowed. "I was even planning on naming one of my children after you. The grumpy one." ' _How very mature, Alistair. Why Duncan didn't want you joining the other Wardens in battle is entirely beyond me. You really do need to learn when to be quiet.'_

A snigger, barely stifled, cut into the argument. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw an elf about his age, possessing a staff, a sword and Warden armor, smirking despite himself. _'_ _Oh, wonderful, a recruit and another mage too. This is hardly the best first impression I've ever made. It could be worse, I suppose. I could be standing around without any pants on'_ , Alistair mused, resisting the urge to double-check. If the twenty-five years of his life had taught him anything, it was that he had exactly that kind of ill luck…

"Enough!" the mage barked, eager to have Alistair out of his sight. "I'll speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool!" he snapped at Alim as he barreled past. Shaking his head at the display, the elf walked forward to meet the Grey Warden Alistair, the tapping of his staff against the ground accompanying his footsteps in an almost mystical way that set people on edge... or relaxed them, depending on who the person was.

When Duncan sent him to find the Warden, Alim assumed that the man in question was some kind of drillmaster, the sort of fellow to enforce discipline upon his subordinates with curses and fists. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Alistair was a young man about his age, maybe a bit older, closer to a new recruit like himself than a veteran soldier despite already being a warden. His blonde hair had been cut short in an efficient military style, while faint stubble grew on the chin of his warm, smiling face. The young human wore his gray warden armor comfortably, and wore a steel bastard sword at his side and a steel heater shield over his back, both bearing the gray warden standard proudly.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," Alistair said with a cheeky smirk, moving to greet the elf.

"I know what you mean," Alim remarked dryly, remembering his conversations with Loghain and the other soldiers and non-combatants, people from all different walks of life who might never have met otherwise.

"Its like a party! We could all stand in a circle and hold hands, maybe sing some jolly campfire tunes! That would certainly give the darkspawn something to think about."

"Might work. I have a wonderful singing voice," Alim preened, "I'll probably charm them back underground, maybe make the archdemon my pet."

The human gave a short, relieved laugh. "Ha-ha! Finally, someone agrees with my plans, dumb as they are. I don't suppose you happen to be another mage."

Daveth's description of Alistair rang out in his mind, and Alim steeled himself for some vulgar anti-mage bigotry. "Would that be a problem?"

"Hardly, no. I just always like to know what the odds are of being turned into a toad at any given moment. I'm strange like that. You must be the new recruit Duncan found in the tower… Alim, right?" he asked, snapping his fingers as the name came to him. "I apologize; I should have recognized you right away from the description he gave me."

"No harm done. You must be Alistair then."

"Yes, that's me," the young human admitted sheepishly. "As the junior member of our Order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining. Afraid you didn't catch me at my best there, what with the mage and all; wasn't exactly a good first impression."

"I was wondering about that actually. What was the problem?"

"With the mage? Well, the Circle is here at the King's request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. Which puts me in an awkward position; I was once a templar, you see."

"Daveth had mentioned that, but I thought templars joined for life?" questioned Alim.

"Well, technically, I wasn't actually a templar," Alistair elaborated. "I had gone through all the training, but Duncan recruited me into the Wardens before I took my final vows. It's just as well, really. I'm not exactly the Chantry type; they want obedient and unquestioning soldiers to serve in the templars, and I'm… I think I could do a lot more good as a Grey Warden rather than sitting in a temple somewhere. Here, I have a chance to really make a difference, to make the world a better place."

"That's a very noble sentiment Alistair," Alim said, looking at the human with new found respect. "I know where you're coming from; I've been given an opportunity the likes of which few tower folk see, and I don't plan on wasting it, especially when I can use my powers to help others."

"Sounds like we'll get along just fine," stated Alistair, feeling much more assured. "Anyways, I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult, sending me to the mages as a messenger, and he picked right up on that.

"I never would have agreed to help her, but Duncan says that we're all to work together against the darkspawn. Guess he didn't give them the same speech. Anyways, if you're here now, then Duncan's probably ready to get things started. We should head back."

"Agreed," said Alim, falling in step with the other warden as the two made for Duncan's billet. It was some distance from the western ramparts, so the elf took the time to quiz his new companion. "Alistair, could you tell me more about this Joining ritual? Duncan told me a great deal about the darkspawn and the Wardens on the journey here, but for some reason, he never mentioned this."

He clenched his hand nervously.

"Well, I can't tell you much. I'm sorry, but it's one of the bigger secrets of the Order."

"One of?"

"I'm sorry," Alistair repeated, deliberately avoiding his gaze. "It's secret for a reason and rather dangerous, but that's all I'm allowed to tell you. I'm sure you'll get through it just fine. Duncan wouldn't have recruited you if he didn't think you couldn't handle it, or the life of a Warden."

The elf sighed, disappointed. He had wanted to know a bit more about his cure, but Alistair would not be moved. It seemed he was disciplined after all, despite his words. He'd just have to keep his wits and courage about him, whatever the challenge. "Have you known Duncan long then?"

"Somewhat. I first met him face-to-face when he recruited me about six months ago, but I had heard of him before that. He was one of the first Grey Wardens brought into Ferelden after King Maric rescinded the Order's exile and he's been leading us ever since. He's a good man; tough but fair, and I owe him a lot."

"How so?"

"Duncan… he was the first person who actually cared about what I wanted. I had been given to the Chantry at a young age, probably because my guardians couldn't think of anywhere else to put me. He actually stopped and asked what I wanted out of life, and a few hours after I gave him my answer, he gave me my uniform," Alistair explained, looking down on the blue and grey griffon livery with pride.

"Sounds like you made a good impression on him. He doesn't seem to be the sort to recruit simply out of sentiment."

"Yes I think you're right, or at least, I hope you are. Duncan did say that my training for fighting mages would double against fighting darkspawn, especially the emissaries. So far, I haven't any reason to doubt him." The human's brown eyes swung back to him, questioningly. "He's a good man and makes do with what he has, and that includes me I guess."

"That was my impression as well," Alim added. "He asks a lot, but nothing he wouldn't expect of himself. You said you were given to the Chantry?"

"Yes, that's how many people join the templars actually. Orphans, cast-offs, younger sons of the nobility who have little hope of inheritance. The Chantry likes to recruit young you see, and train people in seclusion so they're more willing to accept orders. It wasn't what I would have chosen, but I came to appreciate the training itself after a while. Besides, my guardians weren't willing to have me back in any event."

"What happened to your parents then, if I may ask?" Alim gently inquired.

"My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle; she died giving birth to me. As for my father… well, he's dead, let's leave it at that."

The elf winced at the abrupt response. "My apologies."

"Don't worry; it's not your fault. And on the subject of our pasts, the Wardens have an unofficial rule: your past is your own, and has no bearing on your service with us. A lot of people come to the Wardens running from something, or discarding old loyalties; some even consider their old lives dead once they finish the Joining. If you don't want to discuss it, you don't have to." Alistair gave a small shrug as if it was no concern of his.

"I appreciate that, thank you," replied Alim, genuinely grateful. The nightmares from his past were better left dead and buried, true he had discussed one of them with Duncan, but he'd really rather leave his past behind. He was what he chose of make of himself, and the past had no bearing on the here and now.

He had let his past cloud his judgement despite himself; the elf had expected a fanatical mage-hater and discovered a very earnest and generous fellow instead. It was a lesson in open-mindedness that he vowed to take to heart.

A few minutes' walk brought the two to Duncan's personal camp, the Warden-Commander standing next to a roaring bonfire along with Jory and Daveth. "Ah, you found Alistair, did you?" Duncan remarked dryly. "Then we can begin at once, assuming of course, you're finished riling up mages, Alistair."

"What can I say?" Alistair jested, trying not to wilt under Duncan's stern gaze. "The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."

A dark eyebrow rose questioningly. "She forced you to sass the mage, did she?" came the disbelieving inquiry. "You know as well as I that we cannot afford to antagonize anyone, not at this critical stage."

"Of course, Duncan, I apologize," Alistair said dutifully, having heard this refrain before.

"Good. Now then, the four of you will be descending into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks," Duncan explained, drawing forth three valuable-looking glass vials from a pouch at his belt and passing them to the recruits. "First, you are to fill each of these vials with darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."

Taking the vial gently so as not to damage it, Alim immediately spotted the glimmer of magical runes etched into the glass-work and the brass cap, cold to the touch. "What is the blood for? Some sort of battle trophy?"

"For the Joining itself," Duncan answered. "I'll explain more once you've returned. Secondly, there was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain and garrison such a remote holding. It has come to our attention that several scrolls were left behind, magically sealed to protect them from the elements and thieves. Alistair, I want you and the recruits to retrieve them if you can."

"A bunch of old scrolls?" scoffed Daveth. "Anything important?"

"Why, interested in pawning them off?" Jory demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Just asking a question," the rogue shot back. "Bound to be plenty of darkspawn in the Wilds, and other dangers besides. Just want to make sure some ratty old parchment is worth us potentially getting killed."

"They are old treaties, as a matter of fact, dating back to the Second Blight," explained Duncan patiently. "They contain promises of support to the Grey Wardens, binding oaths of troops and support in the event of a Blight. With so many having forgotten the Order's importance and the threat of the darkspawn, it would be good to have something to remind them with."

"If they're so valuable, then I don't understand why they were abandoned Duncan," said Alim. "Surely such documents would be a prize worth keeping?"

"It was assumed that, after the outpost was abandoned, they would be retrieved at a later date. But it seems a great many assumptions have not come true" Duncan answered. "Still, the effort must be made. I do not doubt the King's convictions or the effectiveness of his troops, but no Blight has been beaten with little cost, and having additional allies we can call upon will prove valuable in the days to come. Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely."

"We will," came the response.

"Then may the Maker watch over you all," Duncan intoned with all solemnity. "I will be waiting here when you return."

So dismissed, Alistair and the recruits marched towards the wooden gate blocking the path that led into the Wilds. "I'll take the lead once we get down there, and keep watch for darkspawn, however I will not be fighting, this is you're test, not mine." declared Alistair, strapping his shield onto his left forearm to protect himself from darkspawn archers.

"This archive, what does it look like?" asked Alim.

"It's an old Tevinter ruin from the height of the Imperium," explained Alistair, frowning in disgust at the thought of the magisters. A sentiment that Alim fervently agreed with. "Before Andraste's time, they had built an outpost in the Wilds as a staging ground for slave raids, but when they saw what they were up against, abandoned it and established Ostagar. I think the Order took possession of it just after the First Blight.

"I should be able to find it, no problem. We'll have to be quick, though. If the King's scouts are right, then the horde will be massing for another assault in at least two days, and we don't want to be caught in the path of any scouting parties."

"So we get in, get the blood and the scrolls, and get out. Sounds like a simple enough task" said Alim.

"Of course! We are all Wardens, are we not?" boasted Jory "what foe could possibly stand against us?"

 _'What foe indeed?'_ wondered Alim, setting his mind for the task at hand. Four men... three men and a darkspawn detector against any number of darkspawn, and whatever native dangers lurked within the Wilds, all prepared to destroy them given the slightest opportunity.

_'Come what may, I shall not be found wanting.'_

* * *

A/N: For the record, I am aware that in Mark of the Assassin, Hawke mentions never having met the Warden, but to be honest it was simply too good of an opportunity to pass up simply because of one line. I decided to stick with the default female appearance for Hawke, since in my opinion her default appearance is far more beautiful than anything I have created with the customization tools, and decided to stick with the standard name simply because it calls to mind that appearance.

I do have some plans for a DA2 novelization in the future, though it would definitely diverge from the game at several points. Again, that's just something for the future; right now, Alim has a Blight to contend with!

As for Hawke herself, she is going to have a diplomatic/helpful but flirty personality with the occasional joking or sarcastic comment. The player can choose between mage, warrior, and rogue classes, so I chose to make her a mage with my favorite styles from both warrior and rogue. As for the weaponry and armor, I chose DLC equipment that are not found at any point in the DAII story line and that she can logically start off with, and although the bow is bought in DAII, it is bought in Lerene's Ferelden Imports so it is a Ferelden bow and therefore she could have started out with it if not for game mechanics which demanded that she start out with the weakest weapon in the game.

There is going to be a brief Alim/Hawke pairing for those wondering, but she leaves for Kirkwall after Ostagar as you all know. But her official pairing for the sequel (and my favorite pairing for a female mage Hawke) is Fenris.

Much of this story has been inspired by stories like The Grey Path by The Pheonix King (some of you might notice that this chapter has many silalarities to his own story, and before you flame I'll have you know that I found his account of Ostagar more convincing than what was presented in the game, with each encounter leading into eachother rather than just talking to all the key members seperately), Stormbreaker by dominicgrim, Flames of the Dragon Mage by LoneWolf218 and Forbidden Magic by drummerchick7. All three are excellent stories though, give them a read if you have the time.

Hope you've all been enjoying the story thus far, and any and all comments and suggestions are encouraged and appreciated.

A swordstaff is a real historical weapon, it is a Scandinavian sword-polearm hybrid, used in the medieval ages. It is made by placing a long blade at the end of a staff, thus giving the same benefits of a sword with the range of a polearm. This helps the soldier fighting enemies both on foot and mounted.

The length of the weapon makes it easier to fight mounted opponents, while the blade is still handy enough to use in close combat, as opposed to using a spear which is ineffective at close range because only the tip can be used to attack with, or a sword which makes hurting mounted enemies significantly harder. The greater length of the weapon would also help when fighting more heavily armed opponents, since an attack can be executed with considerably more force due to the length of the weapon.

As for Hawke being able to effortlessly lift a greatsword, then just know that I'm not creating an 'empowered female character' or anything like that. Greatswords were not as heavy as they look, but still heavy enough to require specialized training. In fact, the biggest sword to have ever been used was seven feet long and weighed in at fifteen pounds.

Bastard swords are the same thing as hand-and-a-half swords. The name 'bastard' sword is because they defy classification, being both two-handed longswords as well as one-handed arming (or 'knightly') swords, yet at the same time neither. Alistair, as a sword-and-shield user, should logically be using an arming sword, but instead I gave him a hand-and-a-half sword because he is such a royal bastard.


	7. The Wilds, the Witches and the Joining

Lumbering down the slick moss covered stone steps away from the encampment, the four Wardens entered the foreboding wilderness of the Korcari Wilds.

The place was filled to the brim with tall, wild, overgrown trees, some where still standing in their deeply-rooted positions and some had fallen and were now half sunken into the marsh. Those trees still standing were cracked and bent, showing signs of sickness and decay. If they were decaying before, then it was only exacerbated now that the blight was causing the land to wither and die. A cold mist or fog embraced them like long-lost lovers, with various mosses and fungi marring bark, slick with rainwater and whatever liquids might be present in a bog.

Insects, large and small, zoomed to and fro, but for whatever reason decided to give the four of them a wide berth. Murky ponds and lakes, overgrown grass and dead flowers rising from the tainted water. No birds sang in the trees, and no beasts stalked through the festering undergrowth of leaf mold and dead plants to hunt. Only the distant howling of wolves suggested that the Wilds were even inhabited at all; patient, merciless and eager for the unwary to fall into their clutches.

It was a terribly miserable place, the Korcari Wilds, devoid of all warmth or cheer, and a part of him wished he was back at the King's Camp with a hot meal and a roaring fire to chase away the damp and cold.

He'd even prefer a haunted graveyard filled with all manner of fade denizens prowling an unnatural mist.

So, naturally while in the alien land populated by any number of potential horrors and with only three humans at his side, Alim, the frolicky elf that he was, took the time to pick some flowers. "You'll catch your death of cold doing that," Jory chided the elf swiftly plucking a handful of the white flowers the kennel master required.

"It's for a sick mabari," answered the elf, folding the blossoms into one of the leather pouches on his belt. "Besides, maybe it works on people as well? If the darkspawn taint is anything close to being as virulent as I've seen-" _'and felt'_ was the thought that was left unsaid "-we might need some antidotes for ourselves soon."

"Don't worry about it," Alistair stated, drawing a few incredulous stares. "The Order has developed ways to make people resistant to the taint. Once the Joining is completed, we'll be able to keep you from getting sick."

"Really?" asked Alim, clenching his left hand around the hilt of his sword nervously. "Then why isn't this something the entire army has access to?"

"A lot of the ingredients are a bit... hard to come by," explained the former templar, "and it's generally considered to be impractical to produce it en masse. You should ask Duncan, I'm not that much of an expert."

It had not been the first time that Alistair had shrugged off a question with a declaration that answers would come after the Joining, and Alim was quickly getting tired of that response. He didn't blame the former templar; Alistair was a man of duty, bound to obey orders, but the fact that the Wardens kept secrets from their own recruits was troubling.

Surely being better informed would make them better Wardens? Besides, it wasn't like hearing any of the more frightening information about the gray wardens would make him turn tail. After witnessing so much and being tainted himself, he was more determined than he had ever been about anything to see this blight end, whether by his own hand or not.

"Let's just get this done," Daveth suggested, shortbow drawn, arrow knocked and ready. "The Wilds ain't exactly a healthy environment, you know."

"Does that mean that you've been here before then?" asked Alim.

"Grew up in a village just a few miles north of here, a little blot you wouldn't even find on a map. My pa took me to the Wilds from time to time, taught me how to hunt, but I always hated it. As soon as I could outrun him, I was off to Denerim. Didn't really like the place much, but there were more pockets to pick than anywhere else, and I was good enough to get by."

"So you're a thief then?" Jory asked, disgusted to be in the presence of a confessed criminal. "What exactly made Duncan think you're fit to join this noble Order?"

"Well, you'll have to ask him that, ser knight. But yeah, I cut purses, burgled merchants, the usual stuff. Didn't kill on the job; that's just unprofessional, but I had fights aplenty, you bet your arses there are a bunch of thieves' guilds in Denerim, all of them pretty cutthroat, and every one of them wants the whole damn pie. Wouldn't have lasted long if I couldn't fight."

"If you don't mind me asking-" the elf inquired, stepping out of the chilling pool and pulling up the hood of his uniform's cowl to shadow his face, pale from the sickness, "-how did Duncan recruit you?"

"He actually caught me nicking his purse in the market," Daveth explained ruefully. "He's pretty fast for an old bugger, but the guards caught me first. They wanted to string me up right then and there, but Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription before they could even finish tying the noose. Not exactly sure why he'd want someone like me; but for what it's worth, I'm quick with a blade, a decent bowman and a good tracker as well."

"Those skills would come be useful against the darkspawn, no doubt," stated Alim. They were back on the march now, the softer parts of the ground squelching beneath their feet as they ventured deeper and deeper into the swamp.

"I thought I wasn't Warden material when Duncan conscripted me either, I just hope I get the chance to prove myself wrong. I have to say, it isn't looking too bad so far.

"What about you, Jory? Were you a conscript?"

"Me? Hardly!" Jory boasted, disdaining the notion of having had to be rescued from something, making him the luckiest of the four of them. "Duncan found me in Highever. The local Bann had hosted a tournament in his honour, and I won the grand melee.

"It is a great honour to serve in the Wardens, and I know that I shall return to my Helena with glory."

So he indeed was the luckiest of them, his past free of burdens or nightmares. Alim didn't know whether to begrudge him of that or raise him on a pedestal. But then again his charmed life might mean that the knight did not have the mindset of a warden. He had the skill-set of one true, but he did not have any scars to temper himself against the world.

But who was he to judge, he had spent the entirety of his life except for seven years and a few weeks inside a tower in the middle of a lake.

"And here I thought you hadn't had a woman before!" Daveth laughed. "Always nice having a young filly back home."

Jory's visage became stony. "Helena is my wife, ser, and I will not hear her disrespected. And she bears my child; all the more reason to defend her honor."

"My congratulations to you ser" interjected Alim with a wide smile before Daveth could contribute another crude inference. "New life is always something to be celebrated, and we must seize moments of levity in these troubled times. Have you two been married long Jory?"

"No, only a few months. It pains me to leave her, but…"

"Ferelden calls ser knight, I understand" the elf murmured in sympathy, recognizing his own homesickness and longing for Leorah in those words. His brief interaction with Marian was mending the rift in his heart that that parting had left. "There's no shame in that."

"And what of you ser elf?" the knight asked. "Do you have someone special waiting for you?"

Leorah's face flashed before his eyes for a moment unbidden, but was shortly replaced by Hawke's visage strangely enough, he had only known her for a few hours and it would not due to get so attached so soon. Alim mentally shoved the images down to the recesses of his mind. He was a recruit of the Wardens, and he could not think about them now.

"No, not anymore. I thought there would be, but now I'm not so sure."

"A wife would just get in the way mate," Daveth declared, slapping him on the back. "Honest Jory, you should have seen that lovely lass with the blue eyes chatting with our bold Alim here; I swear, she was just about drooling for him."

"She was hardly drooling you fiend." He gave Daveth a shove "we were just having a... a civil conversation," Alim protested. The idea of having a relationship with a human was intriguing, if a bit contrary to the beliefs he was raised with, of course these beliefs came to him in the form of aunt Serade who married a human man. In the tower he had had sexual relationships with a total of three people, all elves.

All a great deal older and far more experienced than him to boot.

It was intriguing though, as opposed to the thin and willowy body type of elves, humans were taller and more robust. The mechanics of how such a thing would work was completely unknown to him. But these thoughts were all for naught.

They were Grey Wardens, Thedas' defenders against the Blight; he doubted he'd have time for a relationship, even if he desired one. Of course there were female gray wardens to consider. A relationship with a fellow warden wouldn't distract from the blight since they would be just as honor bound as he... in theory anyway.

Spending fourteen years in a secluded tower, you couldn't afford to differentiate between races or even genders, so it wasn't that he was racist or anything, just a... lack of an opportunity.

He had long since gotten over the intimacy issues his childhood had left him with.

"You can be considerate to a woman without wanting to take her to bed."

"Sure sure" Daveth remarked dismissively. "Keep that earnest charm handy, mate. If we do ever encounter any witches in this nasty place, they'll be so smitten with you that our resident templar here will be able to chop off their heads, no problem."

Jory gave a giant scoff of contempt. "You don't really believe those old wives' tales, do you?"

"What tales?" asked the elf, genuinely curious.

"Some nonsense about children-stealing witches that live in the Wilds," Jory answered, dismissive of the whole notion. "There's no way these Witches of the Wilds could last out here, Daveth. The templars would have hunted them down long ago."

"Shows what you know" Daveth snapped, deadly serious and looking more nervous than ever... a strange combination if ever there was one. "They have strange magic, more so than usual, they transform into birds and beasts to hunt any man they come across. If they catch you, they spirit you away to their camp, rob you of your manly essence and then leave you for the crows to peck at!"

Alim heard a caw that sounded suspiciously like laughter, but when he looked up all he saw was a crow flying away. The first living thing he had seen in this forest.

"Then keep your pants on, and you'll be fine!" Jory shook his head in mock despair. "Perhaps the Wardens should start seeking recruits from places other than Denerim's slums if they end up being such cowards."

"Whatever comes our way we'll deal with it," Alistair reassured the group. The four descended into silence and continued walking farther into the marshland, occasionally ducking their heads to avoid low bearing trees.

The elf could feel the power in this place, the power and life held within the trees, the ground and the water. But that life was waning, sick with the very presence of the blight. It was clear to him that the darkspawn were not just monsters, they were a walking disease. Their every step poisoned the earth and and all life on it. The natural world was suffering from them being here on the surface, Alim could feel it in his tainted blood.

Alim started, coming to a halt in the muck, head cocked at an angle. "Do you hear that?" he said, covering up the true reason for his startle. For the real reason was not the groaning he could hear in the distance, it was the taint and the tremendous pain that came with it.

It was not too much for him to cope with however, but he had to prevent himself from doubling over and screaming in order to prevent alerting the others to his dilemma.

"Hear what?" Daveth asked.

"Listen!" The elf stood there, silent and still, ears twitching, straining to catch every stray sound in the eerie silence of the formerly lively Wilds. Then the noise came again, louder this time, a strangled, agonized cry. "Over there," he gestured to the right, brandishing his staff. "Sounds like someone in trouble, possibly injured."

"Then let's get over there but stay cautious," Alistair cautioned the group. "If you're right, then whatever hurt him might still be around."

Quickening their pace, the four men advanced through the swamp, weapons leveled, scrambling up a soggy hill onto a headland of drier ground, the overgrown but dead path marked with the imprint of men's footsteps and the marks of battle.

Twice more the cry echoed from the deep mists, now loud enough for the humans to hear clearly, the anguish in the man's voice spurring them on.

Breaking through the mist at a breakneck pace, the recruits caught their first glimpse of the enemy's handiwork.

The patrol had been expecting a fight, judging by the weapons clutched firmly in their cold dead hands, clinging tightly to them even in death, but they had been overwhelmed and brought down all the same. Almost twenty men wearing the standard of Highever ripped to pieces at the hands of the darkspawn. They had not gone quietly however, Alim noticed fallen darkspawn in the ranks of the slain, their twisted bodies and crude iron weapons side by side with their would be victims on the moistened ground.

Only one survivor remained, the owner of the screams that sounded through the mist. Alim knelt to the man's side, handing his staff to Alistair, he examined the horrible gash across his chest that had ripped through tabard and mail before gouging flesh.

The darkspawn swords may be crude iron, but they were wickedly sharp.

"Who's that, Grey Wardens?" the soldier croaked.

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks," remarked Alistair.

"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn," the man croaked, blood staining his jaw. "We tried to fight, but there were simply too many! I… I need to warn the others, there are hundreds of the monsters out here!"

"Hundreds?" Jory gasped.

"Easy," Alim reassured him and held up his hands, a soft blue glow encompassing them. The human groaned as the grievous wound stitched itself closed, Jory applied a poultice to the still fresh scar tissue and bound it with some linen bandages and fed him a potion Alistair offered.

"Just take it easy there, soldier. That'll help keep you stay alive, but you should see a better healer than me when you get back to the camp."

"Yes, I have to get back... and warn the others."

"Go, the way back is clear" the elf said softly, trying to calm the hysterical warrior.

Groaning in pain, the human complied, limping in the direction of the camp, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Ultimately, Alim was no great healer. The best he could do was close up the wound and save the man's immediate life, but in the long run...

"Did you hear him?" Jory demanded fearfully. It was clear this first taste of the darkspawn's handiwork had shaken the knight, as he kept glancing back towards the fallen creatures as if expecting them to rise from the dead and strike from behind the moment his back was turned. "An entire patrol of seasoned men wiped out by darkspawn!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory, we'll be fine if we're careful," Alistair reassured.

"Those soldiers were careful!" snapped Jory. "I know the Couslands, and they do not bring ill-trained men into the fight! How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army out there!"

"There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of wandering into the bulk of the horde. We're a small party as well, smaller than the King's scouting bands at any rate.

"If we move quickly and carefully, we should be able to avoid any fights we can't handle."

"How do you know that?" came the knight's petulant inquiry. "I am no coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should turn back."

"Overcoming these dangers is part of our test, Ser Jory," Alim reminded him, not facing he rest of them, lest Alistair recognize the signs of the taint. "Listen, if Duncan is right and this truly is a Blight, then we're going to face far sterner odds then this to save Ferelden. And what about the other scouting parties? They should at least know what happened to their comrades here."

"Too right, mate," added Daveth. "I haven't gotten my boots all muddy just to back out now! But if you want to turn tail, ser knight, that's your business."

"Know this, Jory," Alistair said, each word burdened with the gravity of this newest revelation, "all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. I promise you, no matter their number or their cunning, they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here."

"Another Warden talent?" inquired Alim.

"Yes, I'll be able to show you how it works once the Joining is done."

"Of course you will" he said, honestly beginning to worry about how much time he had left, for the amount of pain he was in was magnifying by the minute. He held out his hand to where he could feel Alistair's presence through the taint, he was almost certain that Alistair could sense him too, for his staff, and once he felt it in his glove he drew it back.

"You see, ser knight? We might die, but at least we'll be warned about it first," the former thief quipped with an undisguised grin.

"That is…reassuring?" remarked Jory, anything but reassured.

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make it easy for you," Alistair stated bluntly. "Let's get a move on. We have a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it in."

Now he was entirely certain that Alistair knew what was wrong with him.

_'Well, we're off to a swimming start,'_ thought Alistair as the four Wardens continued their mission. He had half-expected that under his command, all of the new recruits would die in the first five minutes, but it seemed his lackluster leadership skills weren't yet that terrible.

The former templar was a bundle of nerves at this point, he hated the responsibilities and worries that came with taking command, and he never would have agreed to escort the new recruits if Duncan had not requested it.

The fear of failure haunted him more than he would like to admit. Death wasn't nearly as scary to him as failing, he was a Grey Warden and would die eventually, but the thought of betraying Duncan's trust or screwing up somehow, compromising their mission and leading people to their deaths was where real terror lay.

Of course, he could only do so much without the recruits giving their own best efforts. Privately, Alistair was disappointed in Jory. The man was a knight, skilled in arms and experienced in battle, yet he seemed to shirk away from danger in spite of these advantages. He was no poor fighter, Duncan would never have recruited him otherwise, but his reluctance to fight darkspawn was worrying. With luck, it was just his nerves speaking, and they would settle once he had slain a few of his natural enemies.

Daveth was a mixed bag. Alistair had been raised by nobles, fairly decent ones all things considered, and was tutored further by the Templar Order, neither of which held much love or sympathy for career criminals. Still, the former thief had not shown the same trepidation as his knightly colleague, and his tracking skills might prove useful in the days to come.

That left the elf, Alim. Alistair had only a basic understanding of what life was like for the mages of Ferelden, the elven ones even less. He knew enough however to know that that as much as he might have complained about his own tumultuous upbringing, he had it easy by comparison. Most of the elves he had met were either slavishly meek or self-destructively angry, but Alim came from the tower, a place he had never been and didn't understand.

He had heard Jory say that Alim was a knight enchanter. He knew even less about that particular branch of magic than he did about any other, but he did know that the last warden to reach the level of Master of Arms, the highest honor awarded to grey warden warriors, was a knight enchanter who had also achieved the level of Archmage, the highest honor granted to a grey warden mage.

That one warden had personally killed tens of thousands of darkspawn in her lifetime and took an entire thaig filled with them when her calling came.

If Alim Surana was anything like Ariadne Trialmont then his worthiness to join their order was higher than any of them.

But the Joining had claimed the worthy before, and he was already dying from the taint, if they didn't put him through the Joining soon...

But that raised even more questions, when was he tainted? They had not run into any darkspawn yet, it had to have been before he had even arrived at Ostagar.

Maybe even during that ghoul attack that Duncan reported... but that was three, almost four days ago, and most people succumbed within hours.

* * *

Ten minutes after they had left the slaughtered patrol behind, Alistair froze beneath a canopy of moldering pines. "Alistair? Everything alright?" asked Alim.

"To cover, everyone. Now!" came the urgent hiss. "Get ready to fight!"

Sword belts flapping, the four Wardens darted left further into the swamp, concealing themselves behind an ancient tree, its exposed roots plunging deep into the mire. Without thinking, Alim drew his blade, keeping it low so it would not catch the stray light and betray their position.

The Wilds were quiet and still under the blanket of fog, and Alim shivered in the knee-high water. It would be easy to declare Alistair's warning an overreaction, but he remembered how Duncan had anticipated the ghoul ambush, and he now understood as he felt a stirring in his blood, pushing him to kill, slash, rip and tear apart these unnatural monsters who's very existence spat in the face of creation.

"What's going on?" Jory demanded. A stern glare silenced him, so he had to be content with leaning against the fungus-ridden bark and peering into the mist.

Then that terrible and distinctive stench wafted in, and instinctively Alim clamped his mouth shut to avoid gagging. Jory was looking especially pale and shaky, and Daveth was visibly restraining himself from vomiting in revulsion.

Alim glanced from behind the tree at the loathsome figures that emerged from the mist.

The darkspawn were here.

There were a dozen of the monsters, each a twisted mockery of life. Their flesh was an unhealthy shade of grey brimming with weeping sores and lesions, while veins of black blood pumped visibly under the scars covering them from head to toe, the result of ritualistic self-mutilation, and from hairless heads their blank white eyes stared outwards.

None of the darkspawn were equipped in the same manner; their armour was mostly a crude patchwork of leather and rusted iron, while their weapons were heavy, clumsy instruments of crude iron. Even so, some of them had augmented their arsenals with gear looted from the dead. They shuffled forward not in disciplined ranks, but as a shambling mass, snarling and growling, displaying rows of crooked, knife-sharp teeth.

Abruptly, their leader brought his hooked blade skywards and hissed through razor-sharp teeth, halting those behind. It was what Duncan had described as a "hurlock", one of the more common breeds of darkspawn. Vaguely, it resembled a human, if a human had been flayed of all his skin and forced to stand in a cesspool, while this particular example also possessed a bloated left arm upon which a leather-bound shield hung. Examining it closely, Alim realized to his growing horror that the leather was in fact human flesh, the bloodied skull hanging from its belt a sign of the victim's fate.

Behind the creature came three "genlocks", dwarf-sized darkspawn that scuttled in their leader's wake with foul toothy grins, hunched ape-like bodies, bat-like ears listening for any stray sound, sunken blank eyes studying the landscape. They weren't patrolling.

They were hunting.

Behind the foliage, the Wardens were deathly silent, though not without conscious effort. The seconds crept by like hours, and for Alim, the pain wracking his body was nearing unbearable levels, though he was thankful that he couldn't yet understand what the darkspawn were saying, if they were indeed saying anything. Accompanying the agony of the taint like it's ugly twin, the stirring in his blood was now a boiling, or at least it felt like it, making him feel a pins and needles sensation, urging him to massacre the abominations.

The old tales had not conveyed a fraction of the horror of the darkspawn, and the elf clenched his trembling hands around his weapons to drown out the sensations nearly driving him into insanity.

"Daveth." Alim's voice was barely above a whisper, "take the hurlock and the archers with your arrows, then draw your daggers and we'll engage the rest in close range."

Nodding, Daveth knocked an arrow onto the bow's string. In the quiet of the Wilds, the creak of the silvery-blue ironbark as he drew the cord past his ear seemed booming in the silence of the marsh. The hurlock heard it clearly, letting out a serpentine hiss as it made to strike at the prey.

Daveth's arrow hammered between the beast's eyes before it could take any steps towards them, black viscous blood gushed from the wound like a fountain and it fell forwards and hit the ground somewhat anticlimactically with a loud thump. The three recruits burst from their concealment, ripping their legs free of the muck and charging the darkspawn ranks, war cries drowning out the angry howls of the enemy.

Lighter and faster than the humans, first blood went to Alim as he swept a genlock onto it's back with his staff and plunged his sword into it's chest. It was strange how the fear and pain vanished in the presence of action, swept away in the exhilaration of combat and all the guilt that came with it. There would be no moral ambiguity in this fight however; no lingering concerns about leaving widows and orphans behind, or that he'd be slaying otherwise good men just following cruel orders.

The darkspawn were a menace against all life, unworthy of any mercy as they refused to give any in turn, and the elf gave an arrogant, boasting laugh as he slashed and swept into their ranks, begging the monsters to come and be killed.

A previously unseen hurlock rose to meet that challenge, swinging a pair of cruelly crafted axes. Blocking one blow with his sword, the impact reverberating along the steel, Alim leapt back and sucked in his stomach so the next blow struck only air. The elf seized the given opportunity, and the darkspawn was shrieking in agony as his sword opened a gash in its chest and his blunt staff was forced into the gash and though it's body, stabbing clear through into its mockery of a heart.

"Is that the best you can do? Come on!"

The rest of the recruits fought with equal fury beside him, trying to bring down as many darkspawn as possible before they had the chance to bring their superior numbers to bear.

Jory was no meek soldier despite his reluctance in the face of such horrors, fending off two darkspawn simultaneously before beheading one of his attackers.

Those darkspawn equipped with bows found themselves in an archery duel with Daveth, the rogue sniping them off before they could target those occupied in melee, one shot an arrow at him before he caught the arrow inches from his face, stabbed the genlock attempting to sneak up behind him with it, and strung his own bow with it and shot the darkspawn that tried to shoot him.

Their ambush had paid off; half of the enemy's number were dead or dying as they pressed the assault, and as Alim brought down a genlock with a vicious slash, and a hurlock with a bolt of spirit energy, he allowed himself to think that they could succeed.

And then a loud roar cut into the din of inhuman screams and the clashing of blades.

To the east, more darkspawn emerging from the mist, bounding over a small hill. Their leader was the largest of the creatures Alim had seen yet, a Hurlock taller even than King Cailan, black iron armour decorated with severed heads and other trophies of it's kills, it's brutish hands brandishing a massive two-handed maul in one hand and a greatsword in the other.

_'I swear, when this is over...'_

With a barked command, the darkspawn at its flank sent a flurry of arrows at them, black shafts and wicked points hissing like rain.

Yelling in pain as an arrow slashed open his right cheek, Alim locked blades with a hurlock, desperately holding his own against its monstrous strength. The creature's throat swelled, and the dying elf disengaged and leapt away just as the foe vomited forth a stream of thick black bile. A stray arrow, fired by a darkspawn archer into the dense melee, slammed into the hurlock's side. Never one to pass up a good opportunity, Alim cut the beast down.

"Alpha!" Alistair bellowed at the large darkspawn, almost reconsidering his duty as their non-combatant darkspawn detector, a garden of thick shafted vile arrows had blossomed on his shield. "Daveth, put it down!"

"Sorry!" the former thief yelled, parrying a genlock's wild blow. "In a bit of a fix here, mate!"

"We have to pull back!" Jory declared, putting his opponent down. "We're going to be slaughtered out here!"

In that moment, Alim made a judgement call that would have no doubt looked horrendously foolish in hindsight, taking off towards the archers in full sprint. Dimly, he heard Alistair shout at him to turn back, but he had no choice; they were pinned between the two groups of darkspawn, there was no turning back. The only way out of this trap was to break the jaws. It was a risk, but to stand there under the murderous fire of the darkspawn archers was certain death, and by the time the others finished off the first group, they would be torn to pieces.

Plus, he was sick and dying anyway, if his last action was spent saving the lives of the others, then so much the better. At least mages would not be known for always resorting to blood magic if pushed into a corner.

The alpha must have realized the elf's intentions, for the beast immediately began howling at his fellows, pushing them behind him with the giant war-hammer and flat of its sword. Alim kept going, running up the hill as quick as he was able, springing up to his feet every time his boots slipped on the ground, slickened with gore in addition to already being a marshland. An arrow glanced off his left shoulder, but fear, anger and his own sickness gave the elf speed, a snarl bursting from his lips as he cut the first of the archers down.

A magic aura coated his sword and staff, making a bladed shell of energy around the staff and extending the reach of his sword to be equal with the length of his staff.

Howling it's own bestial cry, the alpha moved to intercept the would-be Warden. The maul fell, barely missing Alim and pounding into the turf. Parrying a blow from one of the archers, the elf brought up his staff up just in time to block the alpha's sword strike, the metal ringing from the impact. Arms screaming in protest, Alim stabbed low only for the darkspawn to casually parry it away, it's maul delivering a punishing blow to his face.

Falling onto his back, Alim rolled away from the maul's next strike and reset his broken nose with two fingers. The ghastly shrieking of the darkspawn and the clash of blades suggested that Daveth or Jory had finally put the first group down and come to his aid, but at that moment the alpha looming over him, lip-less mouth twisted into a freakish parody of a grin, was the only thing that mattered.

The maul fell and the magic coated Glamdring rose to meet it, Alim holding the blade horizontally above his head to block. The magically sharpened edge cut strait through the crude iron maul, and the thing screamed in rage. The alpha lashed out in a frenzy, dropping it's hammer and taking up the greatsword in both hands, bringing it down again and again and again to break through the elf's stalwart defense. Alim could hardly rise from this position, and the darkspawn had both gravity and superior strength on its side.

It was going to kill him.

That's when Alim decided to change the rules.

His eyes flashed, and he breathed fire onto the thing, it backed away and dropped its sword, patting furiously at the flames. He stood onto shaky legs, grabbed the pommel of his sword in his free hand and stabbed it in the gut.

The hurlock stopped trying to put the flames out and grabbed the sword with one hand and began to pull, drawing him in toward it. It snarled in his face, looking as if it was going to take a bite when he got close enough. His own strength somewhat enhanced by the taint, he pulled his sword free and brought it around to behead it, thus ending the conflict.

The Wilds were still once again. The remaining few darkspawn had been brought down by the other recruits, and Alim paused to catch his breath and survey the carnage before him. Between them, the three had slain twenty three darkspawn with no losses of their own, though all had been injured in some fashion; Jory held his side gingerly, nursing a blow from a darkspawn mace, while Daveth boasted numerous minor cuts, clean and untainted, unlike himself.

The cut that blood-coated arrow left on his cheek was dripping with black blood. This new taint was only serving to make what was already inside him worse. He cursed silently, wiped the blood away and burned it from his gloves with a magical fire and healed the wound.

"First blood," the elf breathed, wiping off the worst of the darkspawn gore with a handful of long grass.

"Maker, that was… I can't believe we actually did that!" Jory crowed.

Daveth gave a small smirk at this. "Told you mate. We are supposed to be Wardens, after all."

"Well done, everyone," said Alistair, picking the arrows out of his shield. "Now, we should see about getting that blood. Plenty of darkspawn to choose from." When the recruits turned to gather their trophies, Alistair's expression grew serious. "Are you alright Alim? That was rather risky of you, wasn't it?"

"Necessary, though," Alim replied. "We were pinned down, and it was just the distraction we needed. Sorry if I gave you a fright there" Alim said, thinking it better not to mention the semi-suicidal intentions behind the rush.

"Well we're all standing, that's the most important thing here. Just try not to run off by yourself in the future; Duncan wouldn't exactly be pleased if I had lost our most promising recruit so soon after his recruitment."

"Oy! Were right here you know!" Daveth claimed indignantly, "he's right though Daveth. We could both stand to take a page out of his book" came Jory's response.

"Deal" Alim said, chuckling slightly at Daveth and Jory's bickering, somewhat embarrassing at his expense.

He only did what he did because it was necessary, that and the fact that he was already dying. He didn't want either of them to ever have to 'take a page out of his book'.

The Warden recruits set about the grisly task of gathering up the darkspawn blood. At the encouragement of the others, and as his own last act of revenge, Alim filled his vial with the blood of the hurlock alpha. Smiling in satisfaction, Alim slipped the vial into his belt pouch.

"Come on then, the treaties await."

"Wait Alim!" Alistair blurted out, "how did you breath fire? I didn't know mages could do that." Daveth and Jory turned to him in curiosity as well, they knew less about magic than Alistair did, but still... it didn't seem possible for an elf to breath fire like a dragon.

"Uh, that's just one of my more unique talents." Alim said nervously, the others didn't look convinced but relented to drop it for now when he turned away.

* * *

Aedan Cousland was not faring well. He had escaped the unexplained massacre of his family, his subjects, and even his beloved Iona... all at the hands of that treasonous snake Rendon Howe and his men. He retreated south towards Ostagar to warn his brother of last weeks tragedy, only for this to befall him.

He was embattled with darkspawn. The first time he encountered the monsters he was lucky enough to face only one, for he was too shocked by the monstrosity and was wounded, but managed to slay it without effort all the same.

Even so, he was infected.

Over time he came face to face with more of them, each band larger than the last, and this latest one he feared he would not survive. He had managed to slay all but four of the ten man band, an alpha, two archers and a genlock brute.

It was all he could do to keep the vile arrows away with the family shield and parry the alpha's blows with his family blade. He almost regretted retrieving the family weapons from the vault now, almost. Sure, they would be kept out of Howe's slimy hands, but now he feared they would fall to the darkspawn.

It was then, when all hope had faded from his heart, that the darkspawn archers pinning him down were both taken down by an arrow and a bolt of mana while the genlock was tackled and pinned to the ground with a greatsword. He took advantage of the hurlock's sudden distraction to behead it with a roar of rage.

Looking in the direction of his evident rescue, he saw that it was four gray wardens. Aedan sighed in relief and dropped his weapons, he followed them shortly afterwords, falling to the ground in a boneless heap.

* * *

They went over the next rise, and saw four darkspawn harassing a lone human. He was tall and handsome, that much was clear even if he was knelt on the ground and desperately trying to stay alive, with dark hair in a similar style to his own and a stubble.

However it was also clear that this man was tainted, far more so than himself. His skin was deathly pale and waxy with black veins poking out, and his eyes were a sickly yellow and bloodshot.

"My Lord Cousland!" Jory exclaimed, clearly recognizing the man, bending his knee to the nobleman. Between the two groups, the darkspawn had been crushed, and with the danger past, Jory felt confident enough to indulge in the finer points of noble etiquette. "I'm overjoyed to see you alive. After what happened to one of your scouting parties-"

"What? In the Maker's name, has something happened?"

"One of your scouting bands was attacked and brought down by the darkspawn close to the fortress," Alim explained. "Only one man survived, but was in no shape to press on."

"That was not my patrol," explained Aedan, "I am Aedan Cousland, and I have come to warn my brother Fergus of Howe's treachery. Howe's men stormed our castle, killing everyone inside."

"Maker..." Jory gasped in disbelief.

"They didn't even spare the children... or my beloved Iona" with his message delivered, Aedan collapsed in tears at his tremendous losses.

_'Iona? That's an elven name...'_ Alim thought, looking at the crying man _'but this human noble cries over an elf?'_ He had heard many stories of human nobles seducing elves into their beds only to discard them without a second thought, not even caring if they died.

The nobleman started "Amethyne!" he exclaimed in a panic "Iona had a daughter, Amethyne is her name. You must go to Denerim and find her and... take care of her." He whispered, filled with despair that he could no longer marry Iona and raise Amethyne as a daughter as he had so wished to do.

"Amethyne? I shall do this, you have my word." Alim told him, ignoring for the moment the fact that he would die soon as well without treatment.

He sighed in relief "thank you ser" Aedan said, picking up his sword before pointing it at his chest, but before he could plunge it home Jory grabbed his hand and shouted "what in the world are you doing Lord Cousland!?"

"Easy Jory, that man is tainted. He will die a slow and painful death, the Joining could cure him but he is too far gone."

"What are you saying?" Jory demanded, aghast at the notion. "If the joining can cure him then let's take him and return to Duncan!"

"Still got to find those treaties mate," Daveth reminded the knight. "Duncan's counting on us."

"I will not abandon a good man just for the sake of some old vellum!" snapped Jory. "He is too far gone! If we wait any longer he will become a ghoul who's only desire is to murder as many people as possible before the taint destroys him." Alistair responded, trying to talk some sense into him.

"The elf's tainted too!-" Alim's eyes widened, how did they know! "-why not just kill him instead of waiting for a cure as well!" Jory shouted "he's been tainted longer, true, but he's managed to suppress it! He's not as far along as-" "you dare insinuate that some elf is stronger than the noble son of house-"

"Enough!" Alim barked, silencing the argument with a glare. "Could we please try to remain professional here?"

"Stay out of this you filthy knife-ear, you-" Alim cut Jory off from his enraged rant by punching him across the face, his taint enhanced strength knocking the large human to the ground, "you go too far! You are NOT a knight, you are NOT a warden! You are a petulant child who lashes out at the easy target when things don't go his way!

"You are a COWARD!" Jory, shocked at his outburst could only stare silently, ashamed of himself.

With the argument settled, they turned to Aedan "do you have any last requests Lord Cousland?" Alim asked, "yes actually, the sword and shield I carry are heirlooms of my family. Take them back to camp with you and give them to my brother. Take my message of Howe's treachery to the king and avenge my family.

Lastly, find Amethyne and take care of her. I would have married Iona and raised the girl as my own daughter, but now..." Aedan doubled over in pain, the taint within him growing more and more painful.

His eyes softened, this nobleman was a good one, if only he had lived on to serve as an example for future generations of nobility.

Aedan slipped the sword in-between the cracks in his armor into his heart, ending his life and preventing him from becoming something monstrous. Taking the weapons to give them to Lord Fergus, the Wardens continued on their way, Alim heard Daveth mumbling under his breath. "Everything all right there, Daveth?"

"Just regretting that it wasn't me who punched him. Bloody knight was grating on my last nerve with his constant blubbering." Jory said nothing, still steaming silently that he had his manhood stripped of him by an elf.

"Yes well... I understand that he was upset because of his lord dying in front of him, but he went to far with the slur. Up to this point I had thought you a good man Jory, you have a long way to go in earning my trust again." Jory merely grumbled.

"On that note, let's see about finding these treaties, shall we? If our luck holds out, we've seen the end of these darkspawn hunting parties."

Their luck did not hold out. The numbers of the darkspawn grew ever-thicker as the four pressed deeper into the Wilds, and four more times they engaged scouting parties patrolling the swamps for fresh prey. Luckily enough, they had managed to eliminate them all without suffering serious injury, but Alim was not foolish enough to believe that their luck would hold out forever.

They had managed to find a cash of well-made chasind weapons and armour that they could sell fore some extra money, the bodies of the missing missionaries that he had heard murmurings of in camp Rigby and Jogby, father and son and men of the cloth who had come to spread their faith to the wilder folk, and a decorated lockbox with a note that said to return it to a woman named Jetta.

So when Alistair finally announced that the abandoned outpost was just ahead, they had to restrain themselves from jumping in joy.

It wasn't much to look at, an old and ruined tower rising out of the muck, the roof having been brought down by time and the elements, the outer walls covered in slick moss, fungi and creeping vines. The floor was covered with rot and rubble, and try as he might Alim could not imagine it having ever been a base for the Order.

Whatever glory that had been here was long gone, only memories and shadows of what had once been remained. "Are we sure the treaties survived after all this time?"

"They should have," said Alistair. "The chest and lock were designed to absorb a lot of punishment, and like Duncan said the treaties themselves were enchanted. They'll be in here somewhere, I know it."

"When exactly has magic ever been reliable enough to... uh" the others just shook their head at Jory's fopaux.

"Uh, Alistair?" Daveth asked, pointing towards the debris. "Did the chest happen to look anything like that?"

Within the debris of the central tower sat the chest, broken beyond repair. The heavy oak wood had decayed to the point that it had caved in upon itself, and judging from how weak the wood looked, it had to have happened quite some time ago. There was no sign of the treaties, and a search through the rubble proved to be fruitless. "Waste of bloody time," Jory griped, kicking away a rotten beam "to think that we risked our lives for nothing!"

He didn't even mention Lord Cousland, afraid to rile up the others further. Plus, even he knew that Aedan would not have lasted till they got back to camp.

"Let me guess; you can't track the treaties down?" Alistair asked Daveth in a vain gesture.

"Sorry mate, I'm a good tracker but not that good. There's no way to tell when the chest was broken, and unless those treaties are witchified to keep any old filcher from nabbing them, I'd say they're long gone."

"No, Alistair or I should be able to detect them if that were the case" Alim shot Daveth down with a shake of his head.

Alistair's temper darkened, and Alim recognized the look of frustration that passed over him, that resentment that so much valor and effort could be for naught. It was clear that Alistair blamed himself, believed he had betrayed his mentor's trust.

Seeing what was happening, the elf to tried to turn him from that dark path. "It's not your fault, Alistair."

"If not me, then who?" the Warden retorted hotly.

"Whoever took the scrolls? Whoever decided to leave them out here in the first place? I don't know..."

"Well, well, what we have here?"

The four turned at the strange voice, and that was when Alim first saw her, descending down the ruined steps of the tower.

It was a girl— no, "girl" implied a weakness and fragility that the intruder stalking slowly and calmly towards them quite simply did not possess.

Her pale body was hard and lithe, the product of a harsh existence that did not allow for many comforts, and despite himself Alim felt his gaze travel to the deep swell of her breasts. The cleavage of which was hidden only behind the thin laces that held together the upper portion of her purple vest. There was a jewel encrusted gold ornate necklace adorning the curves of her lovely neck. Velvet sleeves covered her arms, to the wrist on her right arm and to the elbow on the left, her shoulder protected by a leather shoulder guard decorated with raven's feathers, she wore a black leather forearm guard on her left arm, while her slender hands bore black leather finger-less gloves. She walked with a considerable self-assurance, black leggings peeking out from beneath a tattered skirt designed out of old belts that had been sewn together, and knee high black leather boots completed the rather formidable image. Her semi-long hair was raven black and pinned to the back of her head so as too not hinder the view of her neck, and her lips were as wide and full as any man could ever want, her cheekbones high and noble.

But it was her eyes that struck Alim the most; a bright golden beneath her dark lashes and deep purple eye-shadow, gazing upon the four companions with an intensity that was unsettling... and in a strange way, enticing. They were a hawk's eyes, calculating and cold and beautiful as they darted from Warden to Warden, seeking to determine their intentions or their utility… or their weaknesses.

No, "girl" truly wasn't the right word to describe her, for no mere girl would consider approaching four strange, heavily armed and potentially hostile men so openly. She was a reflection of the wilderness around her; strange and beautiful yet terrible, capable of being challenged but never to be disrespected, and Alim watched with a wary eye as she paced about them, a dragon prowling around them but disguising the movement as a seductive saunter.

The woman was a dragon, beautiful and enticing and seductive, but when the prey took the bait...

Even with Alim's tremendous self control, the sickness sapping at his willpower and strength like a diseased leach and her own dark beauty were making it difficult not to throw her to the ground and have his way with her.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she mused in a melodious lilting voice. "A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

It was then that Alim noticed the blackened staff she held, it was as long as she was tall and wooden in construction, unusual as most mage staves he had seen were metal, at the tip was a black birds beak with feather and bead ornamentation. His breath caught in his throat. The young woman was a mage, and of unknown power (no, not unknown, for he could sense her power and it was great indeed) and skill no less. It made sense, he supposed. Who would dare approach a strange band of warriors unless they had skills of their own to protect them? The others must have realized it too, given how swiftly Alistair tensed and Daveth whimpered.

"What say you, hmmm?" the young woman demanded. "Scavenger or intruder?"

"Neither, as a matter of fact," Alim stated calmly. "We are Grey Wardens. In truth, considering that this tower once belonged to the Order, I could ask you the same question."

"'Tis a tower no longer," she remarked, as if they had not noticed its current state of decay. "The Wilds have long claimed this desiccated corpse." Her hooded eyes darted back and forth, examining them for any threat posed against her person. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' And now you disturb ashes that none have touched in so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair hissed in warning before the elf could reply. "She looks Chasind, and that means others might be nearby."

"Ooh!" the mage said sardonically, throwing her hands into the air in mock fear. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!"

"Yes," the former templar remarked dryly. "Swooping is…bad."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, I tell you!" Daveth squawked, eyes bulging wide with fright. "We shouldn't be talking to her."

"Witch of the Wilds?" repeated the young woman, eyebrow raised in a gesture of obvious disdain. "Such idle fancies those legends, have you no minds of your own?" Her raptors gaze settled on Alim. "You there, elves are not frightened little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine."

"Don't do it, mate! Once she knows your name, then she'll be able to ensorcel you for sure!" protested Daveth.

It was well-meaning advice, and considering Alim had no idea of what powers the young woman wielded, or what her intentions were, he could understand the need for caution. The old fable of names having power was true enough as well, but time was running out. Within the space of a few days, the darkspawn horde would pass through this region of the Wilds and destroy everything in their path, they needed to retrieve those treaties now if the king's army had any hope of receiving the aid of the gray warden's traditional allies.

"I am Alim Surana of the Circle of Magi milady, and a recruit of the Grey Wardens." He said with a bow, "might I know your name?"

"Now, that is a proper greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan," the mage responded, giving the briefest hint of a smile at the respectful tone. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something within that chest, something here no longer?"

"Here no longer!" snarled Alistair, fixing her with the fiercest glare he could muster in his exhausted condition. "You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of sneaky… witch-thief!"

Morrigan scoffed at this. "How very eloquent, how does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it would seem. Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them!" Morrigan responded hotly, meeting Alistair's glare in kind. "Invoke a name that means nothing any longer if you wish, I am not threatened."

Alim moved to de-escalate the situation before she decided to walk away, judging them not worth the trouble. "Then who did remove them, if you would be so kind in telling us Lady Morrigan?"

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

Behind him, Alim could hear Alistair barely stifle a snicker. "Your mother?"

"Yes, you oaf, my mother," came the sorceress' acid toned retort. "Why, you assume I spawned from a log?"

"Could you take us to her?" Alim asked, resting a hand on Alistair's shoulder in a silent message to keep quiet.

"Now there is a sensible request," said Morrigan with an enticing smirk "I like you."

"I'd be careful if I were you," Alistair whispered, fingers tensing around the hilt of his sword. "First it's 'I like you', then zap! Frog time."

Turning on her heel, Morrigan began to walk deeper into the Wilds with a seductive sway to her wide hips. "Follow me then, if it pleases you. Or not. 'Tis meaningless to me either way."

Without hesitation, Alim followed after her. "Let's go, everyone."

"Hold on just a second. Are we sure this is a good idea?" asked Alistair, falling in behind swiftly. "I want to get those treaties too, but following a strange woman deeper into a swampy forest filled with darkspawn doesn't seem like the smartest move. I mean she is an apostate, after all. If the Chantry knew she were out here, they'd have templars combing through the Wilds to find her and rightly so."

"You think that all apostates are untrustworthy then?" Alim asked with a frown.

"I think this one definitely is."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds!" Daveth repeated. "She'll have us all in a pot for sure!"

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change," remarked Jory, taking up the rear. "I have heard it said that the Wilders are deceitful and cowardly by nature, but if this woman can bring us to the treaties, what choice do we have?"

_'Pot calling the kettle black, Jory?'_

"None, Jory," said Alim, lengthening his stride to keep up with the dark-haired sorceress making her way through the marsh. In the end, they were committed, and if his instincts about the apostate were wrong, then the Wilds would be the last thing they would ever see.

"None at all."

* * *

A woman of her word, Morrigan lead them deeper into the forest, and in a direction that seemed to be well known to her.

The group of four walked for about thirty minutes, not meeting anything or anyone on the path. The others began to fidget, frightened that she was using her magic to create an illusion that made them think they were going one way, while they went another, straight into a pit of darkspawn.

Even Alim, who had to use every bit of magic at his disposal to suppress the taint, might not be able to sense it if that is what she was doing. As it was he might have lasted well into tonight, maybe until midday tomorrow, but with the second exposure of that archer's blood, the sickness was getting far worse. Were it not for his magic he might have already succumbed.

As it was he would only last till midnight.

Although, he had to admit, Alistair being the templar that he was would have been able to sense it.

Eventually they reached a rather large clearing with a ramshackle hut at the center, there was a large lake to one side that looked far too clear to belong in a swamp. As they approached, a woman came out the door.

She seemed... old, ancient even, and something about her seemed almost elven. Not in any feature she had or even in the way that she held herself, he didn't quite know how to explain it.

Despite what he could feel of her, she looked only slightly older than Leorah.

Her hair was bright silver, same as his own (but wheres silver-white was his natural color, hers came with age), but it was styled into horn like extensions held together by red ribbons while the rest fell down her back, and was framed by a silver headdress. Her eyes were a liquid gold, ringed by purple eye-shadow a shade lighter than Morrigan's. Her face was beautiful and only slightly wrinkled, with high cheekbones and arched eyebrows, and full lips with dark purple paint.

Her outfit was... odd, to say the least. She wore a purple outfit of an unknown shimmering material, she wore a piece that concealed her neck, and a coat-like garment that covered her entire torso save for a window that showed her cleavage, it stretched down to the ground in the back, but just below the crotch in the front. On her arms and legs were shining silver armor.

Lastly, she carried a dark purple metal staff that had a single bladed protrusion at the top, stretching to either side in a right angle to the rod portion.

This woman who seemed elvish but looked human looked... he didn't know, seductive? Dangerous?

He decided on a combination of the two, a potent combination.

If Morrigan was a dragon, then this woman could only be a high dragon.

Alim couldn't help but be nervous of her. It wasn't that he sensed a great power about her, it was more that he sensed _nothing_. The woman was obviously a user of magic, but he could sense a mages power if they were close, and he could even sense the presence of non-mages, but from this woman he could sense nothing.

It was as if she didn't exist at all.

He could see her in front of him, but he couldn't find her existence among the other lights that resembled Morrigan and his companions.

It was official, he was in his own person hell. He had always been strongly attracted to women stronger than himself, and was torn between staying here and challenging these women for dominance and doing his duty. With the blight eating away at him, he knew that if he expended the exertion necessary in such an endeavor, he would surely die as soon as finish.

But he couldn't think such thoughts, he had a task to finish and he wouldn't let anything get in his way.

"Greetings, mother. I bring four Grey Wardens who…" Morrigan started, but her mother cut her off.

"I see them, girl." Morrigan immediately went silent, quickly stepping around the older woman while remaining a respectful distance. The mother's eyes, the same fierce instinct gleaming in them as her daughter's, studied each Warden in turn, perhaps spending a second longer than was strictly necessary on Alim. She smirked. "Much as I expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asked mockingly. Both Morrigan and her mother glanced at him for a moment amusedly.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut ones eyes tight or open ones arms wide, either way, one's a fool." Alistair's eyes widened slightly. Davith meanwhile, was still trying to work his way through his old fears.

"She's a witch! We shouldn't be talking to her!" he hissed, standing as far away from the two women as he could.

"Quiet, Daveth! If she's really a witch, do you really want to make her mad!" The mother smiled.

"There's a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decide. Believe what you will." Alim's eyes narrowed as he tried to work his way through what she had just said. Before he could ask, she turned back to him. "And what of you? Does your elven mind give you a different viewpoint?"

"I'm quite honestly not sure what to believe." The woman smiled, studying him with interest renewed.

"Your statement shows more wisdom that it might imply. Different questions do indeed require different answers. Be always aware. Or is it oblivious? I can never remember." Alim cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Morrigan, rubbing her temple in irritation.

"So this is a dreaded witch f the wilds?" Alistair jested, "witch of the Wilds?" the woman said sarcastically "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, you see, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!"

Almost unbidden, the image of a naked Morrigan with hair flowing free, dancing in a moonbeam came to the fore of his mind, weakening his self control ever so slightly.

"They did not come here to listen to your wild tales, Mother." Morrigan said, blushing heavily. Their eye's meet for a brief instant, and from the embarrassment in her eyes he knew that it was no 'wild tale'.

He smirked at her, deepening her blush.

"True," the older woman's voice became much more direct, all jesting aside, and reached into a pack at her belt. "You came for your treaties, yes. And before you start barking-" she stated sharply, looking directly at Alistair, "-your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these." She pulled out three old vellum scrolls, fingering them slightly.

"You-" Alistair started, before catching up with what she said. "Oh, you protected them?" Morrigan snorted in derision at the templar.

"And why not?" her mother asked fiercely, before quite deliberately handing the treaties to Alim. "Take these, and tell your leaders that this threat, is greater than they realize."

"Thank you for returning them, milady." Alim asked, carefully putting the treaties away in his pouch.

"Such manners!" She exclaimed, eyes roving over his form appreciatively, "always in the last place you look. Like stockings." She rambled, "oh don't mind me." She let out a barking laugh, "You have what you came for." Morrigan smiled coldly.

"Time for you to go then," she started to walk away, before her mother stopped her.

"Don't be ridiculous, girl! These are your guests." She chided and Morrigan stopped, sighed, and turned back to the Wardens.

"Very well, I will show you out of the woods. Follow me." She said reluctantly, and with that, she stalked past them and back towards Ostagar.

* * *

The trip back passed largely in silence, the Wardens all lost in thought, and Morrigan was still an unknown. She split off from them around the place where the Wardens had saved the wounded soldier, not wanting to be detected by any of the people dwelling within.

They arrived back at the fortress unhindered.

"Let's get this blood and the treaties back to Duncan, we need to prepare for the Joining." Alim nodded, eager to get to his cure sooner rather than later, and before too long they were standing around Duncan's fire.

He was only glad that they did not run into Hawke on the way, he did not want her to see him like this. His skin waxy and pale and dripping with sweat, his eyes milky and bloodshot.

Duncan glanced up from the map he had been studying.

"Has your trip into the Wilds been successful?" he asked quietly. Alistair nodded, handing over the padded pouch holding the darkspawn blood, and Alim gave Duncan the treaties with shaky hands. He smiled. "Well done, all of you. It will take some time to prepare this.

"Will you give us any idea what this ritual is about, now?" Alim asked. Duncan's smile faded.

"I will not lie, we Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may dictate that you pay this price now rather than later. That is all I can say for the moment, and I must ask you to trust me. Alistair, take them to the old temple. The Joining shall take place there." Alistair nodded, before gesturing the others to follow him.

"Can I just give this flower to the kennel master, please. It's for a sick mabari" he asked, feeling that he had enough time left for such a task. Alistair paused for a moment, regarding the time needed and Alim's level of infection, then nodded.

Alim quickly hurried over to the kennels, pulling his cowl down to further shadow his face.

"Oh, hey, you're back!" the man said happily as he noticed Alim. "Did you find the flower I mentioned?" Alim nodded, and handed it to the man. "Wonderful! This should make this poor boy feel much better. I've been thinking, and we may be able to re-imprint him with you, the guy has become a lot more docile than he was after his last master died, generally a sign of a bond. Why don't you come back after the battle, we'll see if it worked."

"I've always wanted a dog, I'd be happy too." Alim said, saying his farewells before taking his leave and catching up with Alistair. He heard Jory talking as he came up the ramp.

"The more I hear about this Joining the less I like it." Jory said, pacing back and forward. Daveth looked up from where he was leaning against a pillar.

"Are you blubbering again?" he hissed at Jory, who glared at him.

"What's with all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition, or maybe their just doing it to annoy you." Daveth's voice was dripping in sarcasm as he said this. Alim glanced at Alistair, who was watching the argument uncomfortably, his position by the exit making it seem like he was some kind of sentinel, standing guard in case one of them tried to run.

"All I know is my wife is in Highever with a child on the way, and… it just doesn't seem fair." He glanced at Alistair, who averted his gaze.

"Would you have come if they had warned you?" Daveth hissed, glaring at Jory. "Maybe that's why they _don't_. The Wardens do what they must."

"Including sacrificing us?" Jory asked furiously.

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if it meant ending the Blight!" Daveth said, taking a step forward. Jory started to respond in kind but Alim beat him too it.

"Enough! Both of you, stand down!" They both looked at him, mouths agape, surprised at his sudden testiness. "Arguing and fighting isn't going to get us anywhere. We're in this together, let's not make it worse."

"A wise attitude for a Gray Warden to have, Alim." Duncan said quietly as he entered the area.

Everyone turned to look at him, he held an ornate stone goblet with the gray warden standard carved into the side. His voice took on a slow, somber tone. "At last we come to the Joining." He walked slowly to the alter, carefully placing the goblet on it's worn surface. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when all of Thedas stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint." Alim nodded, he had been expecting this.

"We're going to drink the blood of those… those creatures?" Jory, it appeared, hadn't. He had no reason to expect such a thing of course, Daveth either. He was already tainted, but he doubted anyone could truly master the taint without help, but he was beginning to understand how it felt to be one.

Minus the excruciating pain, of course.

"As the first Wardens did before us, and as we have before you. This is the source of our power, and our victory." Duncan said firmly.

"Grey Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint." Alistair said, stepping forward. "We also gain a measure of the darkspawn's speed, stamina and strength, as well as being able to sense their presence just as mages and templars can sense the presence of people if trained to do so."

"That's what you mean by paying a price, isn't it?" Alim asked slowly, finally pulling down his cowl, revealing what the taint had reduced him to, much to Daveth and Jory's shock. "This Taint is normally fatal, so we could die during this Joining?" Duncan and Alistair nodded. An uncomfortable silence filled the air for a moment, before Daveth spoke up.

"Maybe some of us will die. Maybe we'll all die. If no one stops the Blight, we'll die for sure." Duncan nodded again, before turning to Alistair.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but they have been spoken since the first. Alistair, if you would?" The younger warden slowly bowed his head, and he spoke slowly and somberly as Duncan had.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows, were we stand vigilant. Join us as we uphold the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

Duncan nodded, before taking up the now blood-filled goblet again. "Daveth, step forward." He stepped forward solemnly done and Duncan handed him the goblet. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." Daveth raised the goblet and took a drink, while Alim caught a glimpse of the sickly black liquid within and shivered.

He idly wondered if his own blood looked like that or if it was still red.

Duncan took to goblet back, and for a moment nothing happened.

But then Daveth doubled over, gripping his stomach in the same pain that had been wracking his own body for hours. He then let out a terrible, heart-wrenching scream. He looked up, and both Alim and Jory jerked back when they saw his eyes, they were pure white, no sign of pupils or the veins marring his own eyes.

"Maker's breath!" Jory swore, but Alim just watched in silence.

"I'm sorry, Daveth." Duncan said in a haunted tone as the roguish man fell to his knees, choking and clutching is throat. Alim realized that he wasn't going to make it, and could only bow his head as he heard Daveth breath his last. Duncan did not not to waste any time. "Step forward, Jory."

The knight, however, backed away in fear. "But I have a wife, a child... had I known!" he stammered desperately. Duncan walked inexorably towards him.

Alim turned away, he had known that Jory didn't have the right mindset for this job, but was willing to let him grow into it like he was forced to do. It seemed he was wrong however, as it seemed that Jory had failed the final test.

"There is no turning back."

"NO! You ask too much!" Jory gibbered, drawing his sword. Duncan slowly handed the goblet to Alistair, drawing dagger. "There is no glory in this!" He took a desperate swing at Duncan but the Warden-Commander was just too good. He easily pushed the blow aside, stepped in close and ran Jory through.

"I am sorry, Jory" he whispered sullenly, before pulling the blade out and stepping back. Jory fell to the floor, dead. And then, suddenly, Alim was alone.

"Alim, step forward." Duncan said, taking the goblet back. Alim nodded, gently taking what might be his last drink. The blood's taste was indescribably horrible. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." For a long moment nothing happened.

Then the pain, steadily increasing in magnitude for so long, came to a boiling point. It was different from anything Alim had ever experienced. Voices, countless millions of voices screamed in unison, and Alim couldn't understand if they were in his head, or all around him.

Visions flashed before his eyes; visions of blood, of death and of suffering. His limbs alternated between excruciating pain and simply not existing. For a moment, he thought he was in the Fade with demons of fear and despair pulling at his limbs in a gruesome tug-of-war. Faintly, he felt his knees hit the chipped stone of temple floor.

_'This is it, I'm dying. The taint has finally became too much for me to handle'_ he thought to himself. He wondered what would happen, would he be able to see those who had gone before him, or would he simply cease to exist?

Would he go to the Void? Heaven? Or maybe some other afterlife that he had never heard of before?

_'Don't you dare give up Alim!'_ a voice hissed in the back of his head. _'It's not your time to die! You have too much left to do. Now FIGHT!'_

He drew himself together, started gathering his magic. He cast metaphorical shields in his mind, knitted together his spiritual wounds, bathed his mental foes in flames.

_'This is my body! I will not bow! I will not yield! I WILL NOT BREAK'_ And for a brief, glorious moment, he saw the world around him, saw the bodies of his companions, and saw Duncan and Alistair. In that moment, he knew that he truly was a Grey Warden. Then exhaustion claimed him and he fell back, asleep before he hit the ground.

He heard what must have been a dragon roaring in the darkness.

* * *

AN: In the game the battle of Ostagar began just a few hours after the Joining, but in my story it will be two to three days. Next chapter will be the calm before the storm, Alim is going to spend some time with Hawke and train with her. As for everyone being instantly attracted to Alim, this is actually canon. In Dragon Age Origins the Warden, no matter what gender, class or race you choose, is insanely popular with just about everyone you meet. Depending on your game choices, the Warden could be straight, gay or bisexual, and even without this choice everyone and their mother is sexually attracted to the Warden.

However in this story Alim will only have sex with six people before committing himself to Leliana, and even then whether or not the two have an open relationship will be up for debate. Alim grew up in seclusion, and Leliana used to be a seductress who took on all comers (within reason), and it would not be out of character for either to want to bring others to bed with them. It would definitely make their foursome with Isabela and Zevran (that I definitely plan on including) make more sense. Whether or not those six will be lemons or offscreen... eh, I'll think about it.

As for Alim breathing fire, there is an explanation for that and I will reveal it in time. There will be something next chapter that seems like it will link to this, but let me assure you ahead of time that the two are not connected.

 


	8. The Deep Breath Before the Plunge Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemon

Alim didn't know where he was. He was floating in midair in the middle of what looked to be a gorge within an ancient hall, the majesty of the the many elaborate boxy carvings and towering statues of what looked to be dwarven figures subsumed by a cloak of filth and grime, the nobility of the designs all but consumed by corruption.

Any further looking around he might have done was interrupted by a terrible pain that pierced his head like so many tiny daggers scraping against his skull until he felt as if he were about to burst.

He hunched over and grabbed his head with a silent scream of pain.

Thousands, if not tens of thousands of voices erupted into being, all screaming indecipherable words into his ears. All around him, a teeming host of shadowy figures suddenly appeared around him, surrounding him and passing through him but not physically touching him.

Alim opened his eyes and would have backed away if he were standing on solid ground, for all he was able to see in any direction were the shadowy figures. They were so tightly packed together now that all he could see in any direction was a solid wall of shadow.

But then a new presence appeared, completely drowning out the others. The presence caused a feeling of utter wrongness that chilled his spine and curdled his blood. Alim turned around slowly to see that the wall was moving, the shadows were moving away to reveal what could only be described as an undead high dragon.

It was massive, but the magnificence of the draconic figure was marred by the rotting skin stretched taught against its bones and the tattered wings draped on its back. It had bony spikes sticking out of its hide in places a dragon wouldn't normally have them, and the normally gorgeous dragon eyes which were a fabulous mix of feline and reptilian were a sickly yellowy white, appearing almost blind to the untrained eye.

He shivered, as in those eyes he could see a great and terrible intelligence.

It looked directly at him.

It opened its mouth and roared at him, azure flames gathering in its maw, the sound was warped and horrid, a far cry from awe inspiring and terrifying roar of a proper dragon, and the flames rushed at him as he crossed his arms in defense...

* * *

And then the elf awoke, gasping desperately for air, the relieved faces of Duncan and Alistair looking down upon him, the latter laughing quietly with an immensely relieved look on his face. "It is finished" the older Warden said, offering his hand.

Alim started, seeing his hands, he had removed his gauntlets before the Joining, seeing that his skin was no longer pale or waxy. His skin had regained its smooth texture, and the dark chocolate coloring was back in full.

"Welcome Alim Surana, to the Gray Wardens" he said in an official, prideful sounding voice.

"Thank you Commander Duncan" he replied with a smile, mentally swearing that he would do whatever it took to live up to the pride in Duncan's eyes, he took the proffered skin of water to help sooth his dry throat.

Breathing deep to calm himself, he glanced at the bodies of Daveth and Jory, now lying on twin cots with a death shroud thrown over them, their weapons on the table nearby.

He closed his eyes to offer them a moment of silence. Daveth had gone honorably, a far cry from the thief he once was. _'Maker, Creators or whoever is listening, please give Daveth an honored place at your side. He did not deserve the death he so cruelly received.'_ Jory on the other hand had broken his oath, drawn a blade on his commanding officer, attempted to desert, and died with dishonor staining his name and memory.

"Two more deaths," Alistair grumbled, gently placing a sheet over the bodies. "In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was… horrible." He said solemnly with his head bowed in prayer, "I'm glad at least one of you made it through."

He gave a reassuring nod to his comrade, _'dammit Jory! Your life wasn't just your own! Why did you have to let your fears get ahead of your other priorities like your wife or child!'_

He cradled his face in his hands, _'Oh what shall I tell Helena? Should I tell her a pleasant lie or the truth?_

"How do you feel?" asked Duncan.

"I... the Joining is over, I feel fine." Indeed he did, he was no longer burdened by the immense pain of the taint, and he even felt better than he ever had.

His senses, it seemed, had only increased from what they were before. His hearing had sharpened and increased slightly in range, elven hearing was already a great deal better than a humans as their ears were capable of swiveling in place like a cats to listen to sounds coming from different directions, and his eyesight was better than it had ever been, he picked up details they used to pass over as unimportant, such as the cracks and chips in the stone, the artful swirls on Duncan's armor and how lifelike the griffon standard on Alistair's breastplate seemed.

His body felt lighter but stronger, and his magic more potent. He didn't feel any more powerful than before, there wasn't a greater quantity of mana flowing through his veins or anything like that, but what was there felt like it was of a greater quality than before, like any spell he cast would have more bite to it than he was used to.

That would likely take training to get under control.

It seemed to make some sense to him, he had heard stories about how one must be among the strongest to be considered for the gray warden ranks, and actually becoming a gray warden only made them stronger still. Many people thought it was because of some secret training regimen of the wardens, and perhaps there was, but now he suspected that the Joining ritual itself had something to do with it.

Alistair stepped in to change the subject. "Did you have dreams? I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"Dreams... yes."

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do" explained Duncan. "That and many other things can be explained in the months to come. For now, take pride in that you have become a Grey Warden in full."

"Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining," Alistair interjected.

Alim said nothing in response, simply turning his attention to Alistair.

"We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant, something to remind us of those who didn't make it this far." He said solemnly, and Alim accepted the pendant without a word. He had been looking forward to working with Daveth, crass as he was, and even Jory, provided that he improved his attitude.

The deaths were still fresh in his heart, and the grief still too near.

"I know this is a great shock to you Alim, but there is little time to waste" said Duncan. "Take the opportunity to regain your bearings and get used to the changes you are now experiencing, there will be more to come, I assure you.

"In one hour's time, head over to the ruined hall directly beside the gorge. King Cailan will be briefing his officers on the next battle against the horde, and has requested your attendance."

"The King?" asked the elf. "Did he happen to say why?"

"Regrettably not," Duncan replied with a shrug. "All I can ask is that you attend promptly. Until that time Alistair, I'd like you to assist Alim in getting ready, then wait for us by my tent once the meeting begins."

"Of course, Duncan," said Alistair, looking relieved he wouldn't have to rub shoulders with the King and nobility. After Duncan left, the former templar turned to Alim with a relieved smile. "Well, since we have a little time, how about some supper? You haven't eaten since breakfast, right?"

The elf's stomach growled. "I probably should, but after seeing all that, I'm not sure how much of an appetite I'll have."

A strange smile crossed Alistair's face. "Trust me, you'll eat well."

* * *

Having eaten a few bowls of hearty vegetable stew with Alistair (more than he had ever known he could eat), he now approached the ruined hall where the war meeting was to take place. Daveth's shortbow was now strapped to his back along with the quiver. His staff had been taken by the quartermaster to be improved, a peace offering he said.

"You've arrived on time. Excellent," said Duncan, meeting Alim at the entrance of Ostagar's ruined great hall.

"Yes Duncan," replied Alim. "Have I missed anything?"

Duncan's frown told him everything. "Nothing good."

Like the rest of the fortress, the ruined hall had been re-purposed to serve the needs of the army, and while the roof had long since caved in, the walls were still solid and it was large enough to hold all of the senior officers. A mosaic of banners representing the army's various contingents had been put up, and Alim was still amazed at how many bannorns and arlings and knightly orders were present.

The place was packed with about thirty men and women, mostly nobles and officers of all stripes and social standings, though the elf had to stop himself from grinning ear to ear when he caught a glimpse of Hawke standing next to a graying captain, the dark-haired woman giving him a small smile in recognition.

Off to one side he caught sight of a tall man in heavy silver armor who must have been Fergus Cousland, for the sword Aedan had given to them was strapped to his belt and the shield to his back. Alistair must have spoken with him sometime before he awoke.

In the furthest corner, he saw Senior Enchantor Ivo fretting idly under the stern watch of a quartet of templars. From behind another unit of templars, a woman in the vestments of a Revered Mother of the Chantry examined the assembled gathering, her cold blue eyes finding them all wanting. Her gaze focused on Alim for a moment but then withdrew in disgust, turning back to the argument raging in the center of the hall.

"Loghain, my decision is final," King Cailan declared. His golden armour had been polished bright, and he looked every inch the shining King, ready to lead his countrymen to victory. "I will stand beside my men and the Grey Wardens in this assault."

 _'Commendable'_ he thought admiringly, respectful of King Cailan's intent to lead by example like his father before him.

"You risk too much, Cailan," responded Loghain. Ferelden's greatest general was staring at his sovereign as if he was a drunk or a madman, and Alim felt a selfish sense of relief that the Hero of River Dane was not leveling his dark gaze in his direction.

"The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines" Loghain said, a statement that he found very pragmatic, but also very hypocritical. The darkspawn horde, even so numerous as they were, were no more dangerous than the Orlesians in the war. Yet Loghain not only allowed, but encouraged Maric, Elrohir, himself and the other generals to fight on the front lines, and by all accounts Cailan was as fine a warrior as any of them were in their prime.

"If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all," the King stated lightly, drawing astonished gasps from some of those assembled and some murmurs, and shouts, of agreement.

Alim himself also agreed, the recent history between Ferelden and Orlais was filled with blood, and the only way to improve affairs between the two nations was to unite against a common enemy.

Or so were his thoughts anyway, as he had read about many great moments in history when nations united under a common banner to fight to fight an unfathomable evil. An example that could be applied here when Ferelden and Orlais were brought together along with many other nations to combat the fourth blight, under the banner of his own ancestor.

Loghain clearly disagreed, as his jaw clenched so tightly Alim could hear the man's teeth grinding in utter hatred. "I must repeat my protest at your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!"

"It is not a fool notion," the King answered with surprising steel behind his words. Well, it was surprising for most of the assembled nobles, but Alim was an excellent judge of character, and the king was not as foolish as he seemed as anyone who actually fought at his side could attest to. "Our soldiers deserve better than to stand alone against this threat, and I would not see a single one of them fall for the sake of your pride. Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past, and you will remember who is king!"

He had to agree with Cailan, the darkspawn were a threat too all of Thedas, not just Ferelden. He would welcome the aid of Orlais in this, heck he'd even take Tevinter.

"How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!" came Loghain's bitter retort.

"You go too far, Loghain!" one of the assembled nobles shouted, his face was red as his well-trimmed beard, and his tabard displaying a green sun on a white field.

This man was Urien Kendells, the arl of Denerim. "He is your rightful King. Your place is to carry out his commands, not trod upon them!"

Loghain was a hero of Ferelden sure enough, and he had been made a teryn by King Maric. But even so he was but a farm boy from no great bloodline. He may not have necessarily agreed with the notion of bloodlines and nobility, despite being scion of two of the most noble bloodlines in history himself, it did seem as though Loghain was growing paranoid.

Needless to say that it seemed that the man was wearing out his welcome as far as the other nobles were concerned.

"Thank you, Urien," added Cailan, quickly composing himself. "I suppose that our current forces will have to suffice for now. I will assume that your units are all assembled and ready?" he asked to those assembled, receiving a chorus of affirmations. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, Your Majesty."

"And this is the young recruit I met earlier on the road?" Cailan inquired, as all eyes turned towards Alim, some more welcoming than most, a few he would even go so far as to call scathing, but worst was the priest he had identified earlier. She looked down her nose at him as if he were nothing, no... less than nothing; a worm so far beneath her feet that it was not worthy of being stepped on. "I understand congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," said Alim with a salute. "I stand ready to serve, wherever I am needed."

Arl Urien gave Alim a smug look. "Eager to escape the leashes of templars, are you?"

_'Of course he would choose to comment on that. I'm a mage before an elf, after all.'_

"Enough, Urien," Cailan interjected. "I don't care if he is a mage, for young Alim here possesses the honor and courage I would expect out of any of my knights. I know of many men twice his age who lack these qualities."

Urien huffed indignantly at the King's reproof, but did not challenge him, reserving an angry glare for the elf instead. "Every Grey Warden is needed now," Cailan continued. "You should be honored to join their ranks."

"Yes ser."

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan," Loghain remarked tartly, barely sparing the two Wardens a glance. "We must attend to reality."

"Fine then, speak your strategy. The bulk of our army and the Grey Wardens form up our battle line in the gorge and provoke the darkspawn into charging our position, correct?" He asked, drawing a finger across the map of Ostagar to indicate the battle line.

"At which point," said Loghain, belaboring every word, "you will alert the tower to light the beacon and signal my men to charge from cover-"

"To flank the darkspawn, I remember. I assume you've designated which units will form your force?"

"Of course, Cailan. All trustworthy and loyal men." Alim narrowed his eyes slightly. _'But to whom are they truly loyal?'_ Was his thought, as it was very clear that Loghain was hiding something.

But what, and why, those were the true questions. Alim tried to empty his mind of these questions, he was just a new recruit, unaccustomed to tactics and the workings of royalty and nobility. But alas, the fact that he was betrayed by one thought trusted himself did not help his suspicious thoughts.

"Excellent, that's what I like to hear. Now, this is the Tower of Ishal you refer to, in the ruins? Who shall light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there," stated Loghain. "It's not a dangerous task, but it is vital. My forces will be concealed from the darkspawn, but so too will they be out of our line of sight. We need the beacon to inform us of the precise moment to charge."

"Then we should send our best, send Alim and Alistair to see that it's done."

"With respect my King, if it's not a dangerous task I can do it myself." Alim said, earning a scathing glare from the mother at the audacity of a mage talking back to his betters.

"No, it's important that you both go." "Yes ser."

Loghain, of course, had his objections. "You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?"

"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain!" Cailan shouted in exasperation, dismissing his general's concerns with a wave. "Grey Wardens battle the Blight no matter where they are from."

"Your Majesty," Duncan interrupted before the argument could go any further. "You should consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing."

"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds," Loghain stated bluntly.

"Besides, isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?" asked the King.

"I… yes, Your Majesty,"

"Then it's settled. Now then Loghain, if you'd like to go over our specific tactics for this battle in more detail-" Cailan asked, only to be interrupted as Ivo approached the war table. The hands of the templars immediately went for their weapons, the Chantry's knights taking no chances with him, especially with the King within range of his magic. "Does the Circle have a suggestion, ser mage?"

"Your Majesty, the tower and it's beacon are unnecessary," suggested Senior Enchanter Ivo, licking his lips nervously before proceeding. "The Circle of Magi can-"

"No! We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage!" boomed the mother, barely-contained revulsion evident on her withered features. "Save them for the darkspawn, lest your unwillingness to bow before the Maker's commandments bring him to anger and doom us all."

"I am aware of his commandments, and what do you think we are doing?" the mage snapped in frustration. "Our powers can help Ferelden win this battle! We serve! We do far more good in this one evening than all your pious prattling will ever achieve!"

"Blasphemy!"

"Of course, because the task of saving lives should belong only to murderous, lyrium-addicted templars and holier-than-thou priests who demand tithes and donations from beggars who can barely buy bread for their families." Alim ranted, earning a burning glare from the mother and most of the assembled nobles, a nervous look from Hawke and a proud look from the aequitarian/libertarian Ivo.

"Enough!" Loghain roared, the sheer fury in the voice enough to make the belligerents back down. "The plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens shall light the beacon. Your Majesty, the King's Own will hold the center of the main battle-line, as you desire. Arl Urien, you will command the right wing, and Bann Darren will hold the left."

"Thank you, Loghain," Cailan said, sighing in relief. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment when I ride with the fabled Grey Wardens to stem the tide of evil." He said, his pose and manner of speech conveying nothing but hope, but Alim could detect a gleam of sadness in his eyes.

"Yes, Cailan," came Loghain's answer, his expression unreadable as he looked down upon the map. "A glorious moment for us all. Now then, when the darkspawn begin their advance-"

As Loghain continued his briefing, Alim weighed Cailan's words. Were two Grey Wardens really necessary to see that the beacon was lit? His posting simply might have been a diplomatic concession, a chance to show how the Wardens were truly instrumental to victory, and to ease the minds of those Chantry officials present, though he wondered how Alistair would take it.

It didn't really matter to the elf where they asked him to carry out his duties, as long as he had the opportunity to show the world that mages were not all evil beings who would give in to blood magic and become magisters without a seconds notice if given the opportunity.

Sharp purple eyes glanced over the map, and Alim took in the small figurines representing the positions of each unit in the army. If he was reading this right, then Loghain had brought all of his troops from Gwaren with him in his flanking charge, along with the army's heavy cavalry and the regiments of a few other nobles. The elf was trying to identify which heraldry represented each noble when he noticed Loghain glaring at him. Before he could react, the teryn swiftly rolled up the map, dark eyes never leaving Alim for an instant.

"I apologize, my lord. I merely wished to understand my duties within the larger scheme of the plan."

"That is not relevant, Warden. Simply complete your assigned duties and leave strategy to those qualified for it."

"You said something, Loghain?" asked Cailan.

"Nothing worth mentioning."

"Then perhaps I might be able to address my officers?" came the gentle demand, and Loghain quickly moved to let him speak. "When do you your scouts estimate the horde will be upon us Duncan?" Alim perked up, he did not know of any scouts, he had assumed that those he had found annihilated in the Wilds were all that there was.

"After the last battle, the darkspawn forces had drawn back farther than we had thought to regroup. It will be three days at most, and two days at the least before they will be upon us.

"This will give us ample time to bolster our defenses and modify the battle plan where needed."

"Very good, this will give you time to train your new recruit then.

With that, you are all dismissed."

So dismissed, the officers dispersed with Loghain leading his coterie to the flanking position, and Urien and the rest following at the heels of the King. Hawke and the grey-haired captain lingered behind for a moment, observing the elven Warden, reassured by his solid stance despite all of the faces looking down at him during the meeting.

"Corporal Hawke tells me you're a reliable man, Alim of the Grey," said the older man, "and I have learned to trust her judgement."

"That is wise of you, captain. I doubt Ferelden has soldiers any more loyal or dedicated than Hawke."

The Captain let out a barking laugh and looked over at the beaming dark-haired woman. "You shouldn't listen to this kind of talk, Hawke; it'll go straight to your head."

"Too late, Captain Varel," Hawke replied with a flirty smirk leveled at the elf, making him blush. If she had any doubts about the King's plan, then she was certainly keeping quiet about it. At the moment, her attentions were centered on the elven mage, and Alim felt his ardor burn at her gaze.

"It's a shame you won't be with us on the front lines, Alim. I suppose I'll have to take all your kills for myself."

"Well, ladies first, of course," Alim jested. "It would be rude of me to deny you the honor of first blood."

"There will be darkspawn aplenty for all of us, I'm sure," Varel declared. "Duncan, Third Company would be honored if you'd fight alongside us tonight."

"And it would be an honour to accept, but I must decline. The King has insisted that the Wardens take up position alongside his personal guard," Duncan said with an apologetic bow.

"Yes, it makes sense that the King would want you beside him when the time comes. Still, we'd best get on with it. Wardens." Varel saluted them and made to depart.

* * *

When they relayed their orders, Alistair didn't bother hiding his disappointment. "What? I'm not going to be part of the battle?"

"This is by the King's personal request, Alistair," Duncan explained. The wind had begun to pick up, carrying with it a taste of frost, and behind them Duncan's campfire blazed warmly against the growing cold of night. "Without that signal, Teryn Loghain won't know when to charge."

"And he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch, just in case, right?"

"I have to ask Duncan, is this the right call?" asked Alim. "I'm not questioning my orders, I'm willing to carry out whatever duty is required to stop the Blight, but it does seem like we could be of more use to you on the battle line." He fingered the hilt of Glamdring nervously.

"The King will not deviate from the battle plan now, and there are advantages to keeping you both in reserve," Duncan reiterated, all business. "The demands of duty are often not exciting or glorious, but they are necessary, and I expect you to carry out this order to the letter."

"Just so you know," piped up Alistair, "if the King asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line, darkspawn or no."

Duncan gave a labored sigh, and Alim had to stifle a laugh at the former templar's antics. "Well then, should we head down to the valley to join you once the beacon is lit?"

"I do not think that will be necessary. Loghain's flanking charge should end the battle decisively if all goes according to plan. If you are needed, we will send for you. Until that happens, stay inside the Tower."

"And if the Archdemon does make an appearance, what then?"

"Then we soil our drawers, that's what," Alistair quipped.

"Leave it to us," ordered Duncan. "I want no heroics from either of you."

"Is there anything else you would have us do Duncan?" the elf asked.

His expression darkening further, Duncan brought forth some familiar scrolls. "One last duty, before the battle begins."

"The treaties?" Alim asked. "What do you wish for us to do with them? Surely two to three days isn't enough time to secure allies from all over Ferelden."

"We've had the Circle re-apply the protective spells to them, but they must remain secure at all times. These are your responsibility now, Alim. Whatever happens, you must protect them with your life, and if the battle here does not go as planned then you know what you must do. Alistair, you will assist him in this duty."

"I… I understand," replied Alim, placing the treaties in the leather satchel at his waist. His pack would go into the baggage cart so he could fight unhindered by its weight. Beside him, Alistair accepted Duncan's command with a nervous smile, all levity vanished.

"Remember that you are both Grey Wardens now, and I expect you to be worthy of that title. Now then, you must sleep. It has been a long day for all of us, and we only have a few days to prepare for war."

"Yes Duncan" the younger recruits said before they both headed down for the main army camp to the Gray Warden's tent.

* * *

Alim walked out of the tent the next morning, stretching his stiff muscles in the crisp morning air of Drakonis, he had already eaten his breakfast with Alistair and the other dozen or so wardens in camp. Jory had not been lying he told him that all the other wardens camped out here were human, but there were some female wardens to his immense delight... and not a little trepidation.

He was still blushing slightly at the laughing he could still hear at his eating habits, even though none of them had been any better. That and the fact that none of them were very... modest. When they stripped for bed, they did so in front of everyone else.

He understood that the whole brothers and sisters in arms thing led to a lot of trust between each other, and he was used to such things back at the tower. But the other mages tended not to be very muscular, but absolutely everyone here was, almost to the point of being physically perfect.

Jena being extraordinarily curvy on top having such perfect musculature certainly didn't help matters.

With a sigh to calm his nerves, he decided to head over to the archery range to practice with his new bow. Once there, he unhooked the bow and began to fire at the red and white target.

With his enhanced vision, he could shoot a lot better than he thought he would for his first time holding a bow, but it was still not good enough. His arrows were making the target at least, but only the outermost ring.

He loosed another arrow which impacted with the second outer ring. He sighed, he had been at work for an hour already and progress was slow. His ears twitched when he heard light footsteps "hello again," spoke the lovely voice of one Marian Hawke.

He turned to look at her with a smile, "good morning Hawke, and..." There was a man with her, he had rather short black hair in a somewhat plain style, blue eyes a shade darker than Hawke's and a square shaped face. He had a farm-boy's build and wore a simple outfit consisting of a white sleeveless shirt that laced up in the front, dark brown trousers, a leather belt with suspenders, knee high boots, and leather bracers with a metal forearm guard strapped to them.

"This is..." Hawke began, but was interrupted "Carver, and I suppose you're that elf my who was flirting with my sister yesterday?" They clasped each others wrists in greeting, Carver squeezing slightly in an effort to intimidate him, quite the useless gesture as he was wearing steel gauntlets.

"Um..." he said intelligently, he could only raise an eyebrow in amusement when the overprotective brother act was met with a slap to the head.

"Don't worry about him, he was just leaving." Hawke said with a stern look and Carver went grumbling over to where they held the sword drills.

"So, aside from the embarrassing greeting, how are you doing?" She asked, drawing her longbow and lining it up for a shot. He took a moment to marvel at her form. Her feet were spread shoulder distance apart, her back was completely straight, the bow was held in her left hand with the arm perfectly aligned with her shoulders, and the arrow was held between two fingers of her right hand, and she drew it back to her ear with the upper left arm being in perfect alignment with her left.

She loosed the arrow, and it hit dead center on the same target he had been working on earlier.

She turned to look at his wide eyed face with a smirk that told him that she knew of his admiring of her body. "I-" he tried to explain himself, but she shushed him and grabbed his arms and lined them up at the target.

"You need to spread your legs more." She said, correcting his stance with her feet, and she lifted his arms to the appropriate position to shoot correctly. "Alright, shoot." She ordered, and looking down the shaft of the arrow and exhaling evenly, he let it go.

It hit the second innermost ring.

He lowered his bow with a disbelieving look on his face, Hawke chuckled and asked "are you sure this is your first time using a bow?" she asked lightheartedly.

"Well... there was this one time when I was six when I shot myself in the foot with Grandfather's bow." He said causing her to grimace. She shook her head to rid herself of the mental image and grabbed his wrist. "Come on, you won't get better right away and you need a break." She began pulling him toward the sword ranges.

"Now I have to ask, what has you all flustered?" Hawke asked with a smile over her shoulder "you were so eloquent last night and now your tripping over your words like a schoolboy."

"Well, the female wardens have this initiation that they put all the new recruits through... or so they told me. I managed to hold out last night without having to go through it but..." He ended his tirade with a heavy blush.

"Initiation? What... oh" she made a perfect 'O' with her mouth, "and you actually said 'no'?" she asked, half teasingly and half nervously.

"Well I... yes." He said, making her smile brightly at him. She had been concerned for a moment that the first man to catch her fancy in years would have succumbed to a night of passion like most men would... like her last lover did.

"You need to learn a lot more than archery if you want to survive here." She said, pushing him into a small ring and unsheathing the beautiful saber at her side and taking up her shield in her left arm.

"You want to do it here then?" She blushed slightly at the innuendo, he drew his sword and tightened his grip on his staff which he had since gotten back from the quartermaster. He was lucky if he could get one or two sword duels a week back at the tower, now here he was actually being dragged into one. He almost laughed in spite of himself.

"Alright, I'm ready Hawke." Almost before he could finish he had to parry a sword strike with his staff. She was a lot faster than he thought.

The two circled each other, trading only minor blows while she coached him about all the small errors he was making with his footwork. Apparently the melee training he had undergone at the tower was flawed, but then again he couldn't really expect any different from the templars.

She rushed him, and when he tried to parry her sword he quickly found that it was only a feint when she knocked the staff out of his hand with her shield and slapped him on the backside with the broad side of her sword. He yelped and looked at her like a surprised deer at a hunter.

She giggled and blew him a kiss playfully, and walked over to the side of the ring, swaying her hips seductively all the way, and put the shield down on the fence.

She faced him again, this time with only their swords between them.

He thought against picking up his staff, instead he kicked it over to the boundary and switched his sword to his dominant hand. "I'm not left handed" was his only answer to her questioning look. Well, technically he was ambidextrous and could use each hand equally well, but he was more used to using solid weapons in his right hand, his left was more accustomed to swinging around naught but a sword hilt with a spectral blade extended from it.

She merely smirked and rushed him again.

* * *

Alim and Marian sat against the side of the ring, leaning against each other and panting heavily, him more so than her. "You should... you should be a general" Alim commented on her stellar performance, "yes well, I don't really want to draw too much attention to myself" came her laughing reply.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her beautiful skin flushed with excitement and dripping with sweat from their spar.

He had to look away quickly when certain parts of his anatomy started responding.

Unknown to him was that he was getting exactly the same reaction from her.

He suppressed a grin when he saw that their swords were stabbed into the ground, the blades crossing each other in an x. His staff and her spear were at opposite sides of the ring, and her shield was still perched on the fence.

They had spent a good portion of the day fighting their mock battle, attracting the attention of several passers by, both combatants and non. They had used every weapon in their arsenal, and she had beaten him handily every time.

True the Joining had increased his strength and stamina, but he was still too inexperienced with all of this. Hawke had been training her arse off her entire life in order to protect her family, and had only increased her regimen three years prior when her father died.

He yelped indignantly when something large and heavy plopped down on top of his head and a feminine voice said joyfully "so this is why you skipped out on the initiation last night," he paled slightly when he heard the loud and boisterous voice with the thick Rivaini accent that could only belong to Jena.

He leapt hurriedly to his feet to see none other than the incredibly forward warden, she wore the grey warden warrior uniform minus the breastplate and the top of her uniform slightly undone to show a generous amount of cleavage. He gulped and backed away, but she advanced forward to close the distance and reached a hand up to caress his face "so you skipped out on spending the night with me because you wanted the sexy tomboy?"

If Hawke was insulted by that remark, then she certainly didn't show it.

"That hurts me, you know?" she said, cupping her face with her hands and pretending to cry.

"Uh..." he uttered intelligently, _'damn it!'_ He thought to himself, it pained him to see a woman even pretend to cry.

He didn't know why, she was clearly just teasing him, it just... bothered him somehow.

"Hey now, don't..." he started, but when he got within a few paces of her she simply grinned maniacally and moved to get him in a choke-hold.

"So how about it?" Jena asked, looking at a visibly stunned Hawke, "you, me and the sexy elf?" He almost sputtered at her proposition.

He was incredibly nervous when talking about sexual topics, of course he was quite carefree when actually doing it... and even then he never did it with more than one person at a time... or anyone besides other elves.

Now here were two human woman, both hot as hell fire who... he was distracted from his thoughts by Jena and himself being separated rather forcefully. Jena landed on her backside with a yelp of pain after Hawke punched her in the cheek.

Which was now bleeding slightly from Hawke's rather sharp gauntlet.

Any further musing he might have done was interrupted when the woman in question grabbed him and held his head against her shoulder. "The 'sexy elf' as you called him, is mine" she said, and even though he couldn't see her face, he could clearly hear the smug smirk in her voice.

 _'This isn't really happening right? Hawke and I flirted sure, but this seems to be a little much.'_ Alim thought in disbelief as he stared into space blankly.

_'That's right, I'm still dreaming. I haven't woken up yet, this is the fade and these two are just desire demons screwing with my mind...'_

Pride wounded, Jena stalked away with her tail between her legs. When he felt Hawke's arms slip away from his shoulders, he rubbed the back of his slightly sore neck, "sorry about that, I can get a little possessive sometimes" came her sheepish explanation.

"It's no trouble" he said, lacking anything better to say. He made a mental note to heal Jena's face when he got back to the tent, that and maybe massage her bruised ego.

All of this was moving too fast for him to keep track of.

One day he was living a quiet scholarly life, then he was dying and ready to sacrifice himself for his teammates, and now he was in a position any hot blooded male would kill to be in.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" He asked, they were walking down a cobblestone road through a sea of tents. The tent's of the main army camp were not as big as those of the kings camp. But that was only to be expected, he supposed, with the absence of nobles who demanded lush accommodations.

Night had fallen and he was standing in front of Hawke's palatinate blue, but spartan tent, asking if she was certain in her decision to invite him to spend the night with her.

"Yes, I am sure. Now get your ass in here" she said, holding open the flap of the tent. He smirked at her and crouched down to crawl into the entrance, but when it looked like she was going to follow him in, he turned around and grabbed her around the midsection causing her to let out a squeal as they wrestled each other to the ground inside her tent, both giggling the whole way.

He grunted when she shoved him to the ground by his forearms, she straddled his hips, and her smirk was both a smug and salacious one as she captured his lips in a passionate kiss.

Without thinking and without any hesitation, Alim thrust his tongue into her mouth and kissed his lover with just as much passion.

Marian moaned delightedly, he was far more passionate and gentle than she had expected, but still a bit rough. He slipped his arms out of her loosened grip and cupped her face and cheeks almost delicately as his lips pressed against hers.

Alim's hands pulled her a little harder into him as his kiss became more eager, and when they finally pulled away to catch their breath he flipped them over her so that she was on her back and he was straddling her.

He lowered his face to hers again and kissed her furiously, his hands caressing her thighs sensually. She groaned lustfully, she could feel his groin grinding against hers, hindered by their thick clothing. Her arms slid around his shoulders and idly played with his gorgeous hair.

Summoning the strength that seemed to have left her limbs, Hawke shoved Alim back. He opened his eyes to see that she had unfastened her top and pulled the loosened fabric down to reveal the pale white skin of her ample cleavage and the dark violet band constraining her wonderful breasts.

"Come here." She beckoned.

Alim leapt forward eagerly, his hands skillfully cupped Hawke's clothed breasts while he kissed and sucked sucked her earlobe into his mouth. Hawke groaned, she shuddered in delight as she noted that he had a very skilled tongue. She inhaled sharply when Alim's hands squeezed a little harder than she was used to. With a slight grunt, Alim tugged her clothing even further apart, exposing Hawke's largish breasts and muscled abdomen to the cool night air.

"You're beautiful, Marian." Alim said without embellishment as she had come to expect with men trying to get her into their beds, but her heart fluttered even at his words so.

Alim's skilled fingers undid the clasp on her breast-band without any of the immature fumbling she had come to expect, and immediately closed around her nipples, swollen with anticipation. He removed her ear from his mouth, but before she could sigh in disappointment, he started suckling at the junction between her neck and shoulder. She groaned, she knew his sucking was going to leave a mark, but couldn't bring herself to care.

She reached down between her lover's legs to teasingly trail a hand over his manhood, he felt delightfully larger than she had expected, even through his breeches, but not the largest she's had. His hips pushed against Hawke's hand in response to her motions.

"You're overdressed" she managed to say through the pleasure clouding her mind before starting to unclasp his armor and unbutton his top. He lowered himself from her neck just as she managed to pull his shirt away and throw it to the side, and he started to massage her breasts and suckle her right areola and tweak the left one with his forefinger and thumb just as she unabashedly squeezed his member.

She was moaning nonstop now, so loud that were she in her right mind then she would worry about waking her neighbors, she could feel his lips form a smirk around her nipple "what are you-" but she never got to finish the thought as she let out a sharp gasp instead. His hand left her breast and dove between her legs. He gently maneuvered them apart with his strong fingers and groped her soaked through crotch with his two middle fingers, using his other three to undo the laces holding together the front of her pants.

Her entire body trembled when his fingers made contact with her underpants. She had anticipated this since she had seen him on the bridge, so she wore an attractive, lacy pair that her sister had talked her into bringing.

Alim's searching, probing fingers could feel every centimeter of her sex. The dampness that spread across the fabric was starting to coat her thighs as well. She stifled a loud moan when Alim finally wrenched her panties aside and slid a finger into her. Both their hearts raced as Hawke's womanhood, tight from almost four years without a good seeing to by a skilled lover, enveloped Alim's digit. Now it was her turn to grind against his hand as she tried to force his finger as deep as possible.

His mouth left her nipple and moved to the unattended left one. She groaned, and if she could she would have patted herself on the back for punching out that buxom warden if this was her reward, but she didn't want to remove her hands from their spot tangled in the elf's hair.

"You're so good at this-" Hawke whimpered, "-I really need to thank whoever taught you so well."

Alim felt a swell in pride (among other things) and bit down on her nipple in reply, making her arch her back and let out a squeal of approval. His finger had slowed during their brief exchange but now it was back to its pleasurable movements, this time much slower and gentler. His calloused fingertip pressed against a particularly sensitive spot inside her sex and she let out a silent scream, her back arching like a drawn bowstring, her hot juices erupting onto his forearm, her nerves afire with an earth shattering orgasm.

He removed his mouth from her nipple and straightened his back so he could kiss her, one which she gave into without fighting for dominance as she had done earlier, he had long since won that, and she moaned quietly into his mouth, still disoriented from coming so hard, when he introduced a second finger to her quivering womanhood.

She tenderly bit his lower lip again when he moved in, her hips grinding roughly against his hand. She could hardly think through the haze that had overtaken her mind.

Alim pecked her lips in a chaste kiss, before lowering himself and pecking both her nipples before settling at her midsection, kissing and sucking the flesh there. Marian's breath hitched when he started to massage the sides of her abdomen with his wonderful hands and tonguing the sensitized flesh of her toned abdomen.

Alim's hands lowered slowly from her sides to the waistline of her trousers and started to pull them down her muscled legs slowly and tantalizingly. He smiled against her washboard abs when she mewled at his teasing, and slid her pants down and off of her legs, being careful with her deceptively delicate feet. Her mouth almost watered in anticipation when he started to lower himself further, tracing the muscles of her abdomen with his tongue all the way, and her back arched uncontrollably and her legs locked around his head when his tongue met with her clitoris.

If her toes hadn't been curled already, they would have definitely been now with the way his tongue was playing with her clit. His tongue descended from her clit to massage the soft pink folds of her soaked slit, and his hands were now massaging her legs, trying to loosen their iron grip on his head, but not desperately so.

Her breath hitched and her hands jumped up to her breasts, her fingers squeezing and pinching her nipples to provide further stimulation and speed up her encroaching orgasm. He inserted his tongue as deeply as he could into her quivering folds and started to recite the alphabet with the tip, an old trick he had learned from Leorah, and long since perfected to her, and now Hawke's, pleasure, causing her to gasp and tighten her legs grip just enough to provide the slightest discomfort to his ears.

He didn't mind though, the sheer pleasure he was giving to this wonderful woman with his ministrations far outweighed the small amount of pain he was in.

It helped that he had minor masochistic tendencies.

Her back became taught again, and with another scream, this time being far from silent, she orgasmed again, this time squirting her essence straight onto his face and into his mouth.

Limp, she fell back against the bedroll like a boneless heap, and he swallowed the surprisingly sweet fluid as he extracted himself from her legs, the iron in them now completely gone. Scooting forward until their faces were level again, he smiled to himself as he looked upon her, her red, flushed face and her shallow, panting breath.

Instead of taking advantage of her shortness of breath and possibly doing something that she didn't want him to do, everyone hadtheir reservationsduring sex after all, he simply pulled her close and showered her face and neck with soft kisses and slipped his hands into his own waistline and slipped his remaining garments down and off.

She regained her bearings rather quickly, and when she did she pushed him onto his back and kissed him with more passion than their earlier kisses. Turnabout was fair-play, this was evident as he gasped into her mouth when she gripped his manhood and started stroking.

 _'He's bigger than I expected an elf to be...'_ Were her thoughts as she stroked his steel hard manhood, her lower lips shivering in anticipation.

She halted her passionate kiss with her lover and, with a peck at his lips, she started to lower herself down his body, taking the time to admire his deliciously dark complexion and how it sharply contrasted, yet perfectly complimented her own milky white skin.

He groaned, as even though as far as he knew men didn't have any erogenous zones in their nipples the way women did, pleasure coursed through his body when Hawke circled his nipples with her skilled tongue. He groaned when, not letting her tongue leave his body, she lowered herself further, running her calloused hands down his muscled torso the whole way.

His breath hitched and his eyes crossed when she ran her tongue along his manhood, and looking down at her, she was staring up into his eyes lustfully through half-lidded eyes. He shivered with anticipation at the sexy image she presented, and before he could say anythig she engulfed his glans in her mouth.

Pleasure coursing through his veins, he could only tangle his hands in her hair and stroke her head as she engulfed more of him into her warm, welcoming mouth. Her technique was a little amateurish when compared with Leorah, but being two decades younger than the elvhen woman, he didn't expect different, but her eagerness more than made up for any lack of skill she might have had.

He groaned when her probing hand, the other hand was busy fondling and coaxing an orgasm out of his scrotum, found his asshole and pushed her smallest finger in.

He tapped Hawke's shoulder in warning when, after almost half an hour of her ministrations, he felt an encroaching orgasm. Rather than withdraw, she instead retreated till he was only halfway in her mouth and sucked harder and grazed his sensitive skin lightly with her teeth. Her teeth proved to be too much for him, and with a loud moan and an arched back, he unleashed his payload into her mouth with enough force to make her lightheaded.

She moaned around him, the vibrations making his release that much more intense, the taste of his semen was surprisingly not unpleasant tasting. Rather than the bitter and salty flavor she had expected, he tasted strangely sweet and fruity, if still a bit slimy.

Maybe it was an elf thing.

When he had finished unloading into her mouth, she backed away, dragging her lips across his skin, careful not to let any drip out, nor did she want to swallow it just yet. Like him, she had read many dirty novels in her downtime, and had a basic knowledge of just what to do to excite him.

She crawled up his body in an almost feline manner, and when she was close to his face she opened her mouth letting him see his cup-sized load. When she had his undivided attention fixed upon her mouth, she smugly noted, filled to the brim with his spunk, she closed her mouth slowly and swallowed once with a great gulp, and opening her empty mouth with only slight traces of semen, she ran her tongue over her teeth sexily which, along with her lustful half-lidded eyes, provided an uber sexy image that instantly reversed any softening his manhood might have done.

With this being the last straw that broke his self-control, he grabbed her roughly, much to her delight if the squeal was any indication, and pushed her down, face first, into her pillow with her shapely rear swaying tantalizingly in the air. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked back at him, only to gasp when he started teasing her dripping folds with the tip of his member.

"Don't tease me! Just push it in!" She pleaded, and he happily obliged by pushing himself into her with a single thrust. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head in pleasure, as his chest pressed flush against her back and he grabbed her face with one and and pulled her into a fiery kiss, and the other went to her clitoris and started to play with it in addition to his thrusts.

She closed her eyes in pleasure, and idly noted that he didn't pull away when he tasted himself in her mouth. She gasped and clutched desperately at his arm, his slow thrusts were slowly speeding up, not to mention that every thrust was carefully controlled and hit her g-spot every time he entered and every time he retreated.

Hawke moaned. The walls of her sex stretched pleasurably to accommodate her lover's girth. Hawke showed her flexibility when she lifted her left leg against and turned herself around without removing his member from her folds or disturbing their established momentum. Her hands reached out to cup Alim's face. She bit her lip to stop herself from getting too loud (about three and a half hours to late, but still...) as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

She knew he was picking up on her vibes that she wanted it rough, and so wouldn't remain this gentle for much longer and that knowledge only made her hungrier. She widened her eyes and squealed in delight when he pushed into her roughly, wrapping her arms around his neck to brace herself for the ride.

The moment her fingers locked around Alim's shoulders, Hawke was lifted bodily from the bedroll into a sitting position, she let her head roll back when this only forced his member deeper into her. Alim's massaging hands held her by her plump rear. He locked eyes with her for a moment before suddenly thrusting back into her. Hawke moaned loudly as he bounced her on and off of his shaft at his leisure. Her moist thighs and buttocks collided noisily with his bare legs.

"Oh Maker!" She gasped. Her head leaned back and she alternated between gasping breathlessly, moaning his name and calling to the Maker. Alim continued to pull her on and off of his member, taking full advantage of his power over her to take pleasurable revenge on her for kicking his ass back at the sword range. Her womanhood was wonderfully tight around him and each time he slid back into her it contracted a little more. He knew he wouldn't be able to continue his assault forever; so Alim endeavored to make sure his lover had nothing to complain about afterwards.

Hawke's back arched again as arcs of pleasure coursed through her legs and back. Alim's labors were swiftly bringing her to the tipping point and she could do nothing but enjoy it. When his thrusts lost their speed and gained a sudden force, she fell right over the edge. Pleasure coursed through her numb brain and tingling body as her sex tightened rapidly around Alim. Her hips started to grind and gyrate against him as her instincts forced every centimeter of his shaft deep inside her by tightening her legs around him like a vice.

His lover's orgasm had barely begun when Alim reached his limit. The head of his member swelled and his body coiled like a bowstring as his seed gushed out. Thick spurts of his essence shot into Hawke, aided by her eager hips and walls squeezing him so agonizingly tightly. He thrust weakly into her each time his seed shot out, the load being no smaller in volume than the one he had shot into her mouth, only stopping after nothing but a few leftover droplets leaked out. His arms shook slightly as he lowered his lover back to her bedroll.

They panted heavily against the soft bedding of her tent as they struggled to regain their bearings. She hadn't experienced an orgasm like that for quite some time. When Hawke saw his still somewhat hard manhood leave her sore slit, dripping with their mixed fluids, she smiled. Kneeling down, Hawke took his softening flesh into her mouth and cleaned all the sticky fluid from it with relish. Giving the head a soft kiss as she rose, smiling drearily at Alim.

"Well..." Marian started to say through her panting breaths "I can die happy now."

Alim laughed haltingly as he had still not caught his breath "I concur" he agreed.

Smiling warmly at him, she pulled him into a kiss that, while lacking the fire and the lust of their earlier kisses, had no less passion.

* * *

Outside the tent, as far as ten tents away in all directions sighs of relief could be heard as after almost six hours, the insanity inducing noises finally stopped, and they could get some sleep at last.

But one person was not so happy the noises had stopped, or even started in the first place.

Jena was gazing absently at the utilitarian blue tent in the distance, her body half hidden behind a training pole and her eyes watery with tears. _'I knew it, I came on too strong again.'_

Due to her loving parents and happy upbringing that gave her the freedom to grow up to be whomsoever she wanted to be, she had a free way with her words that shocked some people and made them think that she was more 'open' than she truly was, but was nonetheless a pure and virtuous woman. She, like any other woman, wished for love, and for a strong, kindly man to sweep her off her feet and shower her with affection.

There were other men like that in the grey wardens, true, just as there were men who were not so kindly. Her free way of speaking only seemed to scare away the ones she wanted, and attracted those she didn't.

Case in point, after she pushed the man she fell in love with upon first laying eyes on into the arms of that other woman, the woman's brusque and childish little brother approached her and propositioned her in an act of revenge against his sister. She didn't really understand his motivations... no, that wasn't true, she did. That was the worst part, she thought, that the way she acted when she was nervous pushed away men like Alim and attracted boys like Carver.

She said no of course, though when he began to act like a brat (an obvious inferiority complex rearing its ugly head) and started to make racial slurs about her love, she used her sheathed greatsword to smash his balls.

Dismissing these thoughts with a sigh, she turned away to walk sullenly back to the warden's tent, only letting a single tear fall from her gold eye.


	9. The Deep Breath Before the Plunge Part 2

Sleeping at Ostagar necessitated long thick woolen clothes during the night. The chill of the mountain cold rushed through the broken walls of the ruined fortress as swift and startling as an arrow. Yet, despite this, Alim and Marian had only the wool padding separating their bodies from the ground, and a blanket separating their naked bodies from the cold morning air.

Alim awoke slowly, his eyes bleary from sleeping in a tent when he was used to the comforts of the circle tower. Although he couldn't deny the comfort he was feeling now, cuddled up against his new lover as he was.

Alim had slept on his side with his arms around Hawke and his head on her chest, she was lying on her back with her arm around his neck. When he looked up from his position against her breasts, he could see her clearly with his enhanced elven night vision, the campfire long dead and with only the moonlight creeping against the thick blanket of the comfortable bed, dimly illuminating their tangled forms under the blanket.

He smiled as the memories of last night hit him. With those memories wrapped around him like a security blanket, he wrapped his arms tighter around Hawke and snuggled deeper into her chest and drifted back into the fade.

* * *

He groaned as he awakened once again.

When Alim woke up at pre-dawn he opened his eyes to a dim tent. There was a chill to the night air but when he shivered, it wasn't from the cold but rather the sight of the mass underneath the blanket. Accompanying a pleasure he was still trying to determine, there was a moving humanoid shape underneath the blankets, moving and creeping around his lap.

His manhood was currently enjoying the sensations of a wet, warm tongue dancing and wiggling along his length, tracing nonsensical designs along his member. A hand was gripping his length around the base as it slowly stroked him, using spit for a lubricant to keep the touch slick and sweet.

Alim's head was swimming as he woke, barely able to cope with the feel of his member being teased and delighted under the covers. A hand was cupping his scrotum and teasing him, while he felt what could only be a warm, wiggling tongue drawing lines up and down his shaft.

He moaned at the ministrations, not sure whether or not he was still in the fade and these sensations were the work of a desire demon, or if he was in the physical world and he was being delightfully awoken by his lover.

He bit his lip to avoid calling out as the tongue played with his foreskin. The stroking continued and he soon felt a mouth move entirely over his shaft; starting to take him in slow, sweeping strokes. His inches disappeared into a wet mouth with tight walls suckling against it, and the sensation was almost overwhelmingly joyful.

Alim's hands lowered to the head in his lap, pressing his fingers in through the fabric of the blanket. The notable lack of horns told him that he was in the physical world, and that it was indeed Marian giving him this wonderful treatment. Though he couldn't see her he delighted in the sensations, and in his mind he pictured beautiful Marian with her pink lips kissing and swirling her tongue against his shaft.

In Alim's mind spit covered Hawke's red cheeks, and a look in her eyes that spoke of intense desire.

Perhaps, by the time the morning horn blew, he would have her writhing beneath him again as well? His throat tightened at the thought, and he could feel his member twitch in hungry desire as he imagined the sight of the warrior; bent over in the dim pre-dawn light with her glistening slit, waiting and begging to be claimed once again.

Fully rested but still somewhat spent as he was, it didn't take much longer for him to reach his peak underneath the covers, and the hand jerking his spit-covered girth started to speed up to encourage him. Lips kissed and a tongue danced, and when Alim finally started to unleash his payload, his cum filled underneath the blanket with a sticky mess. He was groaning in mad desire as his length continued to pulse out cream, and he could feel his twitching tip rub against nearly everything. The fabric of the blanket, and then to a warm cheek. A set of kissing lips with a teasing tongue, and then with a thrust of his hips he could feel his tip lost in thin wisps of hair. He had rocked in climax and when his sex finally stopped, he could feel the cum oozing down his shaft, rolling finally to the fingers still gripping him at the base.

"Oh Marian…" He finally spoke, licking his lips in bliss. He felt slightly ashamed of himself for having made such a mess, and made a mental note to take the bedclothes down to the nearest stream as soon as possible. Of course, he had finished on a woman's face and hair (and even her breasts and stomach) before, but those times were more out of the heat of the moment than out of an uncoordinated accident such as this time.

As he was lying back in his post-orgasmic daze, she scooted herself upward and kissed him deeply. He returned her affection without hesitation, once again tasting himself on her tongue, and once again not pulling away.

He might have disliked the taste at one point in time, but one could not be friends with the problem child known as Anders and not grow to enjoy certain activities.

When Marian pulled out of their kiss, she sat up and straddled his waist so that his iron hard erection was wedged firmly in the cleft of her shapely arse. He got even harder when his eyes took in her form, illuminated by the dim light shining in through the walls of the tent. Her smooth pale skin was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, indicating that she was hard at 'work' long before he awoke, and coating her face and parts of her hair was a liberal webbing of his white goo.

The image driving his instincts wild, he rose into a sitting position, using her shoulders as handholds, he began to draw his tongue up and down her face, licking up heaping mouthfuls of his own warm fluids from her creamy skin. Hawke looked on at his odd behavior, but any misgivings she might have had were wiped from her mind when, whenever his mouth became full he would pull her in for a steamy lip lock, pushing the strangely sweet liquid into her mouth with his tongue.

Finished with his process of feeding her his spunk one mouthful at a time, his lips and tongue busied themselves with her breasts while his hands traveled down to her hips and, lifting her up with her aiding him by engaging her thigh muscles, he lowered her sopping wet womanhood down his turgid length till their hips met with a wet clap.

But before they could begin their rocking movements, the morning horn blew one long, loud note, signalling the army camp's wake up call. Marian and Alim both groaned in frustration before pulling away from each other to begin the day.

After a cold bath to calm their raging libidos, courtesy of Alim conjuring a large orb of water which he then swirled rapidly across their skin to clear away the sweat and grime that had accumulated there from the past day, they helped each other get dressed and exited the tent and headed down to the training range.

* * *

Alim and Hawke started out the day with a generous helping of breakfast, although when he was offered meat he politely declined, explaining that elves could not digest meat or dairy products, that the unique inner workings of the elven body got all of the needed nutrients from fruits and vegetables.

Although this factoid was more commonly known among the dalish and the more educated circle elves. City elves generally did not know this fact about themselves and so when they ate meat, their bodies being unable to digest it, it would instead remain in their bodies until it rotted away inside them, the extra weight they would gain from this made them weak, slow and sluggish, giving rise to the human belief that elves were lazy or unintelligent.

After they had their fill of food and gossip, they moved on to the archery range. After a few hours and many instances of healing magic used on sore and bleeding fingertips, Alim showed marked improvement with his bow, showing his prodigious talents with archery.

Something that should surprise no one, as despite the many years humans had spent denying and refuting the fact, it was well known that archery had been invented by the people of Elvhenan. Since time immemorial, elves had always shown prodigious talent as archers, though most equated this with cowardice in the face of close quarters combat... nonetheless, Alim showing talent with a bow was nothing special, despite Hawke's claims otherwise.

Although he had to admit that, with only a day and a half of formal training, he was doing better than other elves would in the same amount of time, at least if his grandfather's stories were anything to go by.

His improvement, while impressive, was not fast enough for his liking, for this was already the second day since the war meeting. The darkspawn horde would be upon them tomorrow or that very evening, and he needed to improve as fast as possible. It may have been a bit arrogant of him to think so, and even he did not believe it because of how many other soldiers there were at Ostagar, some even stronger than he, but because of his unique skill set, he truly was their trump card.

Or at least Duncan said so. Not to him, but he had overheard him say such in hushed tones to King Cailan and General Loghain.

After they left the Archery range they moved on to the sword range where things got a bit interesting.

Just when he had unsheathed Glamdring to spar with Hawke again, he heard a pair of feet stomping over to them, the right foot being heavier than the left implying a large weapon, and when he head the whistle of a sword being swung he pirouetted on his heel and parried the telegraphed swing of a greatsword.

_'What is it with humans and their obsession with size?'_

"Carver!" He heard the admonition from Hawke, but the man in question simply growled out angrily "not now sister!"

So surprised was he by the impromptu dual between himself and this snarling beast of a man that he found himself speechless.

Not that he spoke much in the first place.

He blocked an overhead vertical swing, dodged when the human tried punching him, parried a left horizontal swing and jumped over Carver's head and kicked him solidly between the shoulder blades.

He turned to face Carver when he landed and firmed his stance even as the man stumbled and turned to face him with a great deal less grace and coordination.

Alim breathed out slowly as it became clear to him that this was a spar only in his thoughts, in Carver's opinion this was a hot blooded fight between men.

He briefly entertained the notion that Carver was simply being an overprotective brother, but given the way that he seemed to interact with his sister, he doubted that was the case. Though, never having had a sibling, he didn't think he would be able to tell one way or the other. Either way, he was now involved in a fight with naught but pride on the line with this smelly man-beast.

He didn't blame Carver for not smelling particularly good, the water in mountain streams were ice cold and without healing magic one could fairly easily get pneumonia. But that may have been a non-issue, he had a feeling that Carver didn't like to bathe even when he had warm water handy. This guess was reinforced by the look in Carver's eyes; wild, uncontrolled, and his form was, while good, more along the lines of a berserker.

Then again, that wasn't entirely true. Among the many various fighting disciplines that existed across Thedas, the berserker was a very powerful discipline. They trained so much and so often, that their each and every move is recorded in their muscle memory so that when they go into their famed blind rages they are just as if not more dangerous than a levelheaded warrior of the same skill level. The ideal was to utilize the power intense emotions like anger gave to a persons attacks, the ability to ignore pain like it wasn't even there, and the sheer unpredictability of their attacks in a potent combination.

Carver however, as skilled a swordsman as he was, wasn't as controlled. He was more of a wannabe beserker if Alim had to venture a guess.

He telegraphed his moves before he made them, and his swings were strong but uncontrolled. Given all this information he theorized that Carver chose the greatsword not because it was the weapon that suited him best, but because it made him appear intimidating. Not that the gambit was an ineffective one, when one saw a warrior use such a large blade without buckling under the weight they became frightened at the blatant display of strength, but Carver clearly did not have the skill to back up that intimidating posture of his.

He tried to keep his disappointment off his face, for despite all his nobility or knightly bearing, his bestial instincts were screaming at him to find the strongest of opponents and do glorious battle with them to prove himself as the strongest... but among the three people at the center of the sword range the strongest was Marian, he himself was not far beneath her, but Carver was a mere ankle-biter caught up in the territorial dispute of two mighty mabari warhounds.

Carver attacked him again, stabbing at him with his blade, a failed gambit as Alim simply jumped onto the sword and somersaulted over Carver's head again.

 _'I understand now'_ he thought, finally able to make sense of this nonsensical situation. _'He's got something to prove, it isn't that I slept with his sister. He's afraid, all of us are, but...'_ he looked around at the faces staring at the two combatants, mostly human, some dwarves and a few elves, and turned his eyes back to Carver.

 _'Sorry about this Carver, but I've got to end it now before this goes any further!'_ Were his thoughts as he sheathed Glamdring, bringing surprised and worried gasps out of the crowd, and he used his superior agility to get in past Carver's defense and hook his left foot around Carver's right ankle and pull causing the large human to trip, he struck the boy's right wrist causing him to drop the greatsword, and he stuck his left arm behind Carver's lower back and rested his right hand on his chest, and used Carver's lack of balance to flip him onto his back.

"What in the bloody hell was that!?" asked an enraged Carver in a futile attempt to cover up his bruised pride. "Mind your tongue, there are ladies present."

Both Marian and Jena who were standing at opposite ends of the gathered crowd smiled at his chivalry. Though both of them had fouler vocabularies than the relatively mild words used by Carver, but they appreciated the sentiment of his words if not the words themselves.

Carver growled and entertained the notion of grabbing his sword and disemboweling the smug little elf, but refrained from it. He was a knight, or at least fancied himself as such, so held himself in check and simply grabbed his sword and held it against his shoulder in a non-aggressive posture. Alim, trying to put an end to any rivalry that might develop between them because of this fiasco, stepped closer to Carver and extended the proverbial olive branch in the form of his open hand. But Carver, the brat that he was, slapped Alim's hand away and stormed off, the gathered crowd parting ways to make way for him.

Alim sighed in resignation and turned to Marian who looked to be torn between staying and going to console her brother. "I apologize for all this Hawke" he said, knowing how embarrassed she must be, he had felt the same when Amalia and Zelda spent all those months passive aggressively glaring at each other.

"No, it's fine." She said, though he could tell it wasn't. He sighed, he knew how she felt, torn between two parties and unable to get through to either... well, one of them. He just counted her lucky that she was torn between a lover and a sibling rather than two lovers... the situation wasn't quite as awkward and much easier to resolve.

Given time, that is. Time that they might not even have.

"Go to your brother Hawke, I should get back to the wardens, it is likely that they have some training or information for me about my new position." Marian looked pleased at his help with her personal issues, if a little disappointed that she couldn't spend more time with him.

He was honestly surprised by the situation he found himself in, again. Even among all this danger and tension, there was family and relationship drama. Of course, it could just be people trying to distance themselves from the darkspawn on their doorstep, seeking moments of levity in dark times as Irving had said. He was honestly relieved by that, when he had first looked up at the imposing walls of Ostagar, he had thought that all the people within would be just as grim.

Their hopes and will torn down by the specter of the Blight, but what he found was just the opposite. He himself was an introvert and thus did not engage in small talk or gossip as most people did, but within these hallowed halls he had found very few of the solemn sentinels he had expected, rather almost everyone he had met was hopeful. Perhaps it was as Flemeth had said, that these people were underestimating the danger that the blight presented...

Or perhaps these people were just hopeful that they would defeat the enemy and return home to their families...

He desperately hoped that it was the latter.

"Yes, I..." Marian said, hesitatingly, "I suppose I'll go do that then." "I hope you get through to him Marian" he said, thinking of his cousin, Seri, he didn't even know if she was still alive. He was conflicted on the matter of her, on one hand he hoped that she was dead, at the Maker's side and free of all pain and suffering, but on the other hand he hoped she still lived so that he could reconnect with her.

When he was small he thought of her as a sister, he still did, and they were the best of friends. He could not imagine being rivals with your own sibling... for a brief moment he felt pity for Marian, but quickly reminded himself that not only would she not want his pity, but that there were those more deserving.

She rested her hand on his shoulder and pressed her rosy lips on his cheek in a chaste kiss, and when she pulled away they smiled reassuringly at each other, silently wishing each other good luck in the present drama and the looming threat of the darkspawn. She turned and left the arena in the direction her brother stormed off in, and unseen by him was Jena running off to the warden tent at their show of affection.

* * *

Later that day, Alim found himself walking the misty marshlands of the Korkari Wilds again. He was right about what he should expect at the Gray Warden camp, on both accounts. They gave him a journal which contained a section especially for darkspawn, and the various incarnations of such, and a great variety of spells invented by warden mages which he attached to a special apparatus on his belt.

The book itself was surprisingly ornate for a travel log, with intricate steel on the binding and edges of the book along with a clasp to keep it closed and the warden insignia on the cover and blue leather covering the wooden construction of the book itself, it was moderately thick and enchanted to resist damage and wear. And the apparatus was a simple affair, with iron loops for his belt, and locking hinges that hooked onto the spine of the book.

As for the training he was to go through, the traditional training regimen was to walk down a winding path, fighting several fully trained wardens along the way, with Commander Duncan as the final opponent. The traditional training regimen was put on hold however, as Duncan had sensed another darkspawn scouting party in the wilds. In compromise, he was to eliminate them himself, with his trainers hanging back and watching, saying they would only interfere if his life was in danger.

His attention was drawn to the left of his current path when he felt a steady pulse. He wondered if he wasn't already starting to sense them as Duncan said he would soon enough. Tightening his grip on his sword and staff, left the path in the direction the pulse came from, his racing heart comforted by the crunching of grass and sloshing of water, signs that the others were watching him still.

Soon he came upon a hill, on the other side of which he could feel the origins of the pulse. He crouched down low so he could creep over the hill without alerting them to his presence, though he forgot one very crucial fact. Grey Wardens could sense the darkspawn, but the same was true in reverse.

So as he was creeping up the hill, he was surprised when a hurlock alpha crested the hill in a full charge, greatsword and war axe at the ready. Surprised though he was, Alim instantly sprang to his feet.

He knocked two arrows onto his bow and held it horizontally, pulled back as Hawke had taught him to, and let go. He had aimed for the eyes of the charging alpha, but he wasn't yet skilled enough to pull off such a pinpoint shot, and hit two hurlock archers instead, and by happy coincidence they seemed to be the only long range fighters that this particular scouting party had.

He managed to kill a few more before they crashed down upon him, three genlocks, four hurlocks, two shrieks, and a ghoul surprisingly enough. Before they crashed down upon him, he dropped his bow on one of the more solid looking patches of ground and picked up his staff and drew his sword. He ducked under a heavy handed swing by the alpha and, crouching low, thrust his sword into the pelvis of a hurlock, and letting go of the handle he twisted around, and grabbing the hilt once more, he pulled up on it, cutting cleanly through the monster vertically, the sword exited the monster's shoulder before he swung it down diagonally of front of him, opening a gash in the alpha's back, but not killing it, and bisecting a genlock next to it.

The alpha turned to skewer him with its greatsword, but was blown away and stunned by a blast of telekinetic energy. Alim inhaled deeply, grateful for the bit of breathing room the mind blast gained him. Sheathing his sword, he lifted his staff in both hands and cast a wide area blizzard smell in an attempt at ending the battle quickly, as the exertion of the day was finally starting to wear on him. A bright white-blue glow started to shine from the top of his staff, and starting from that glow, ice crystals began to gather on the staff. He started it into a spin, and just as the darkspawn began to regain their bearings and charge at him once again, the glow exploded into a storm of ice, snow and wind so intense that it slowed their charge, blew back the surrounding trees, and even coated the darkspawn in a layer of ice.

The blizzard halted, leaving the ground covered in a layer of snow and the genlocks frozen solid, while the hurlocks and the alpha were already starting to struggle. Quickly, before they could break free, he used made use of his Spirit magic once more, encasing them in prisons of telekinetic energy. He started to squeeze his hand, tightening the bars of their cages, causing the genlocks to shatter into bloody fragments almost instantly, the hurlocks struggled but went all the same, all but one of them shattering, while the last of their number managing to free himself of the ice, but succumbed to the telekinetic hold as it was crushed to death where it stood.

The alpha however, broke away from his magical hold entirely and rushed at him once again, although it was slowed down somewhat by the gash in its back. Ignoring the burning muscles in his arms and torso, he adjusted his grip on his staff and drew his sword and parried the axe with his staff and blocked the greatsword with Glamdring.

Pushing with Glamdring, he tried to keep the alpha occupied with his left side while he stuck the head of his staff underneath the axe blade and tried to twist it out of the alpha's grip, but its strength proved too great, so he jumped away and, dropping his staff and maneuvering it out of the way with his foot, bolts of blue lightning arced off his fingers and into the darkspawn.

Muscles locking up, the alpha drove itself toward him in slow staggering movements driven solely by rage, he was about to finish it off before he felt another pulse coming up rapidly from below him. Sidestepping, he barely managed to avoid being cleaved in half by a shriek, one far larger than the others he had seen, a shriek alpha. With a loud screech that almost disoriented him, the shriek almost gutted him with one of its wrist mounted blades if he hadn't thrusted his buttocks backwards and sucked in his belly.

Using another mind blast to give himself some more breathing room, he panted while thinking on his next move. He didn't have enough mana left to use another wide area attack, the list of techniques he could use with his sword was limited as his muscles were severely protesting any further movement, and because of the intense wind of his blizzard, there was nothing around him that he could use to gain himself an advantage.

He panicked when they began to charge at him again, and used his remaining mana to create twenty blue spectral swords, slowly rotating around him. With a wave of his hand at the rapidly approaching darkspawn, they flew forward and honed in on them. The hurlock, being the slower of the two, was impaled and killed, while the shriek managed to evade them and continue rushing toward him. The shriek attacked him with a cross-slash, using its wrist mounted blades like a pair of shears, but he dropped to the ground and slithered between its legs and he picked up the hurlock's axe.

By the time the shriek alpha managed to turn around, he had already beheaded it in a heavy swing of the massive axe. All of the darkspawn dead, he simply stood there on alert, waiting to feel another pulse besides the ones that told him the other wardens were in the tree fourteen feet away from him, panting heavily and waiting for his racing heart to calm down.

When the adrenaline stopped rushing through his veins, he suddenly felt the fatigue of the day come to a head, and his eyes rolled up into his head in a dead faint. Before everything went black though, he felt himself fall into someones arms, and his last sight was bountiful dark skinned cleavage framed by blue cloth.

"Duncan..." said Warden-Constable James, one of Duncan's oldest friends, said. Duncan nodded approvingly at their unconscious comrade and said "I know. It's just as expected." He smiled, looking down at the elf being cradled lovingly in Jena's arms with a longing look on her face.

Their newest comrade showed strength, determination, creativity and resourcefulness, honor and nobility of character. All the qualities he was looking for in a successor. Sadly those qualities weren't easy to come by in a single person, one of his main fears regarding this Blight was that he would perish without passing down leadership of the Ferelden wardens to someone he found worthy of the position.

_'But now, I found the one.'_


	10. The Deep Breath Before the Plunge Part 3

Bleary eyes opened to see the blue canvas the the Grey Warden tent, he felt his head rested on a very comfortable pillow while he stared at blurry green fabric. He sighed as memories of how he came to be unconscious hit him, and surprisingly absent were the aches and pains of battle and the exhaustion he had been expecting was gone as well. He shifted his body slightly to see if there was any lingering pain, and he felt nothing.

Alim rose to a sitting position, hearing a sigh of disappointment from behind him. He turned around and, blinking the blurriness from his eyes, he saw none other than Jena in blue trousers and a black sleeveless undershirt. He looked down and saw that he was wearing the same thing, meaning that somebody had removed his armor... he blushed at the thought that Jena had done it... and that his 'pillow' had indeed been her lap. His blushed increased at the thought of him asleep with his head in her lap, her running her fingers through his hair.

He blinked in surprise when, upon meeting her eyes, she turned her head away shyly. He blinked in confusion, he had expected her to say something lewd, that's what she normally did in situations like this or any other... right? Of course there was also the possibility that her flirtations were something he had dreamed up to stroke his ego... yes, that sounded probable. He was about to say something to her when he heard "hello again young Surana. Good to see you among the land of the living once again."

He turned his head to the direction the voice came from to see Senior Enchanter Wynne, and that the green fabric from earlier was her robe. She must have healed him in his sleep, it would explain why he didn't feel any lingering aches or pains... he was worried about that actually, he had always healed more quickly than most due to being a reaver, but not even he healed that quickly.

Wynne was one of the greatest mages Ferelden had ever seen, and most notable among her talents was healing. His pains and fatigue would have been a breeze for her to fix.

He thanked her with a bow, one which she returned and promptly left for the mages pavilion in the King's Camp on the hill above. Just how many times had it been that she had healed him from his various misadventures, scrapes and training accidents... he had long lost count, he even had a bed reserved for him in the healers ward.

He smiled slightly, amused at the thought of his antics as an apprentice.

He was interrupted from his silent musings however, when Jena jumped up from her cot and rushed out of the tent, and he stopped her by grabbing her arm. "Wait... I'd like to speak with you" he said hurriedly, wanting to get through to her before she ran away again. Things between them were already tense, and if they were to work together in the future, then they needed to work things out now... at least, that's what he told himself. She turned to look at him over her shoulder "please" he said, slower this time.

She took him by surprise again when she pirouetted on her heel and, putting one arm around his back and the other on his shoulder, pressed her body flush against his. She closed her eyes and immediately backed away "no... no, that's not me. I'm sorry." Jena bowed her head in apology, but didn't run away as his hand was still clutching her firm left bicep.

He gestured to his cot, and she nodded hesitantly, agreeing to sit and talk with him.

They talked for a while, and it quickly became obvious they had a lot in common. He talked about his time at the tower, and she told him about her home life with her adoptive parents. When he told her about Leorah, her eyes softened visibly and she laid her head on top of his. She told him about her joining, and how it was a nightmare for her far worse than most wardens ever had to endure.

The rare darkspawn raiding party occasionally wandered to the surface, even in times when there was no blight. Such was the case with her, her village was destroyed, her adoptive family was slaughtered. When the darkspawn were finished with their killing, they dragged her and three other women with them down into the cave they came from. She survived off of cave mushrooms and nugs for two weeks as she was forced to watch what their tainted captors did to the others.

They would drag the first woman, Ursula, away for hours on end. Every time she came back she was crying, bleeding and barely able to move. It was just after a few days when they left Ursula alone and started on the second woman, Diana. What they were doing to them was terrifyingly obvious as Ursula's body started to turn grey and expand. It was just when her turn came when Duncan came, killing the darkspawn in a whirlwind of cold steel and fiery eyes, and Ursula, Diana and Marsha fell that day as well, each of them begging to be struck down rather than be left to their cruel fates.

As the only one of the untainted women, Duncan took her with him when he left the deep roads. He was forced to tell her the truth of her captivity, and it was then, when she learned how they were born, that her hatred of darkspawn began.

"How they are born?" Asked a pale Alim, and Jena, eyes glazed over with memories better left forgotten answered him "you must remember that the first darkspawn were human magisters, and there were no female magisters till hundreds of years later."

The implications of her statement chilled his spine and curdled his blood.

Far too angry to be led like a damsel in distress out of the caves, she picked up a darkspawn blade and carved her way to freedom alongside Duncan. Impressed by her skill and resolve, Duncan recruited her. When the senior wardens sent her and several other recruits into the deep roads for vials of blood, she took the blood of a broodmother, the creature she would have become had it not been for Duncan.

It has been seven years since. "I... I don't know what to say." "Don't say anything then." Jena leaned into him and he put his arms around her tightly, trying to draw her away from her nightmares with compassion and warmth.

He told her of his own nightmares, of being brutalized at a mere seven years of age, of seeing the woman he thought of as a mother becoming tranquil and barely even recognizing him the next day... of nearly drowning in a vat of dragon blood.

That part seemed to get her attention. "You are a reaver?" she asked in shock. "Yes," he answered, showing her his eyes. She watched in silence as the pupils of his eyes changed from round to slits and back, "I ended up ingesting enough of the stuff that I began to mutate." He stopped to laugh sardonically, "I can even breath fire as Alistair can attest, but he doesn't know why."

Seeing her look at him in question, he continued. "I didn't ask for this you know, and the Knight Commander began to trust me less ever since because, well..." he lifted the right leg of his trousers to the knee, revealing patterns of silvery-grey scales "I do look a bit like an abomination like this."

She didn't know what to think of this turn of events, the man she loved admitting to being not only a warrior who grew stronger for every drop of blood spilled in battle, but actually possibly being an abomination in elven form? Such a thing didn't seem possible... The very idea was ridiculous, bet there it was.

"They even went so far as to summon a dragonologist to the tower to study me, seeing that the dragon blood came from a male dragon that was, by all accounts, older than the Tevinter Imperium..." Alim laughed sardonically again at Jena's dumbstruck face.

Who wouldn't be, after all, the Imperium was well over five thousand years old. She counted in her head, the aging cycle of a dragon started out as dragonlings, newly hatched, and after a few decades they became either dragons or drakes, depending on their gender, and high dragons after a millenia... five thousand years, that would mean the blood came from a great dragon, ancient dragons that were, according to legend, capable of speech, high intelligence, even magic...

The legends of King Calenhad, the ones that placed him as a reaver, told of him drinking blood from a bound and prostrate great dragon with the aid of a powerful witch. According to those legends, the great dragon blood was so powerful, it remained strong in Calenhad's bloodline even now, four hundred years later. Whether or not anyone believed those legends was up for debate, and normally they were only generally accepted with any historical accuracy among the qunari.

"In an attempt to placate the Knight Commander, and quell his calls for my death, I volunteered to undergo templar training... I drank my first phial of lyrium at thirteen." Alim continued in quiet tones. "But... mages already have too much magic in their blood, ingesting raw lyrium could've, no should've killed you!" yelled Jena astonishingly, displeasure evident in her voice at his recklessness mixed with wonderment at how he was alive at all.

"Yes, that baffled everyone at first, myself included, I admit." He started, looking at the ground and idly drawing nonsensical patterns in it with his big toe, "the theory was that the dragon blood in my veins acted as some sort of stabilizer that allowed the raw lyrium to mingle with the magic in my blood without killing me."

"Wow, so you're a mage, a reaver, a templar, and a grey warden?" Jena asked in incredulity, and at his solemn nod, she continued "you are seriously one fucked up elf."

Her blunt statement at who/what he was made him smile from ear to ear, it was just so unexpected and seemed to sum it all up in such a strange way that he couldn't help but laugh and nod.

"That didn't help though, when the raw lyrium didn't kill me he only saw that as proof that I was an abomination. He did tolerate my existence however, as despite his suspicions it was well known that the scales were a byproduct of my status as a reaver and not possession. I was always watched more closely than the other mages however."

Jena hummed in thought, while neither of their lives had been sunshine and roses, neither one necessarily had it easier than the other. But then again, people of caliber weren't built by happy lives, so maybe it evened out. She snorted and shook her head, unable to make sense of her own thoughts. She was thinking in circles again.

The both of them were distracted from their conversation by a rustling of fabric, and they looked to the opening of the tent to see Hawke ducking under the heavy fabric, the opening letting them see the orange light of the pre-evening sky shining down upon the cobblestones.

Clearly they had been talking longer than they had realized.

Marian was looking down at the dirt, her eyes clouded in thought, and her hand was gripping the red-wrapped hilt of the knife tucked into her belt a little too tightly, trying to relieve stress maybe, and he realized that she had been eavesdropping.

"How long have you been there?" he asked while Jena looked off to the side. Hawke winced "sorry, bad habit, years of trying to protect my family. Anyway, I saw the wardens carrying your body back to the pavilion and thought... I don't know."

She was nervous, that much was obvious from her straying eyes and somewhat hesitant tone. He didn't know what she could have possibly been nervous about, other than the fact that the two wardens were in somewhat revealing clothes, but that didn't really seem like something that would faze someone like Hawke.

He had to give her credit though, for despite having been caught eavesdropping on a private conversation on top of whatever she was nervous about, she was standing there and explaining herself instead of making excuses to get away.

"But I couldn't, I mean I had business to attend to, so I couldn't check up on you right away. As for how long I was out there... I didn't mean to eavesdrop on you, but the bit about dragon blood had me a bit frozen on my feet."

Alim sighed in relief, she didn't hear any of Jena's confession or any of his earlier stories. He heard/saw no lie in her voice/posture, so he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe her.

"Anyway, what did happen?" she asked, getting back to the main point. The question drew his mind away from his morose thoughts, and from the straightening of Jena's posture, did the same for hers. "It was nothing, I just exhausted myself in the Wilds fighting some darkspawn." He answered, his tone bright, downplaying the situation. "Yes, he was quite-" Jena paused to lick her lips sensuously "-impressive."

Alim turned his head away, blushing slightly, but he also had a small smile at Jena's playful antics returning now that the heavy atmosphere was gone. Though Hawke, not used to Jena's behavior, took it at face value and stepped over to say something, but whatever it was she would've said would remain a mystery as Jena took Hawke by surprise by grabbing a handful of Hawke's hair and pushing her face into her cleavage.

The reaction varied between the three, Hawke squealed and put her hands on Jena's shoulders and pushed herself back stuttering, he coughed into his hand to hide his heavy blush and moved his legs to hide a very noticeable twitch at what Hawke's reaction said about her, and Jena laughed uproariously at them.

But the happy times, it seems, were not to last. Just as it seemed that the unspoken animosity that existed between the three of them was dying down, and friendship or possibly more looked like it could have been blooming, Alim and Jena both felt a chill race down their spines as the blood rushed from their faces, pale with dread.

Alistair's vague assumption of there being maybe tens of thousands of darkspawn in the horde was wrong... oh so very wrong.

The darkspawn were here.

* * *

Alim is a mage, a templar, a reaver and a grey warden. This is not just fanboy wish fulfillment, I promise. Not completely at least. In Dragon Age lore it took entire legions of grey wardens backed up by legions of regular soldiers to take down an archdemon, but the Warden does it single-handedly whyle the rest of the party keep the smaller darkspawn off his back. It's completely obvious that he overpowered, I'm just trying to justify that by giving him a diverse skill set.

Everyone in Origins is an expy of a character from Arthurian legend, and Wynne is an an expy of Merlin, so it would stand to reason that she is an incredibly powerful mage.

As for Alim having scales, this is in fact cannon. When Reavers drink enough dragon blood, their bodies begin to mutate and they begin to grow scales in places. When trying to design Alim's scales I thought of the Au Ra from Final Fantasy Heavensward, and so far he only has scales on his legs. By the end though he will have scales on his entire body from the neck down so he will always wear fully concealing clothing in public.

After all, I can't give my character so much power without introducing some negative side affects. He'd become a mary sue.


	11. Blood and Tears

After the Fourth Blight ended almost four hundred years ago, the majority of Thedas had assumed that the darkspawn had been long since eradicated, and no longer posed a threat to the surface world. Their evil banished to the realm of folklore, religious doctrine and nightmares. Even those who would admit to their existence considered them a fading relic of a forlorn era, stragglers of a dying race to be mopped up at the leisure of the dwarves.

That pleasant lie was definitively put to rest as the darkspawn horde spilled forth from the Wilds, their endless ranks oozing between the trees, poisoned and dying from the presence of the living plaque that was the darkspawn, the chorus of their animalistic howls reaching an eerie pitch at the sight of the army assembled to challenge them. There were five thousand of the darkspawn in that first wave, and that could only mean that there were many times that number yet to come. Beneath the dark stormy sky, the horde looked like a seething swarm of maggots upon a gangrenous corpse.

It was a true horde the men and women of Ferelden faced; there seemed to be no individual units within the darkspawn, it was a shrieking, enraged mass of bloodthirsty evil that steadily advanced upon Ostagar's valiant defenders, but they held firm, grimly clutching their weapons and watching as the enemy they had hoped would never rear its ugly head ever again took the first steps of their charge.

Leaping down the stone steps, taking two and three at a time, King Cailan made his way to the assembled warriors, the King's Guard hurriedly trying to keep up in their heavy plate armor. He took one of the staircases his soldiers had used, arriving in the gorge behind the army, and the fighting men and women of Ferelden turned and cheered as their king threaded his way through their ranks. A cursory inspection proved to be quite reassuring; the troops were well-turned out, their armor and weapons in good condition, and appeared ready to endure the bloodshed to come.

There were a few who looked like they might be tempted to run, but at the sight of their king in his shining armor, their morale was restored.

Banner after banner, regiment after regiment, five thousand dedicated men and women stood within the gorge and upon the heights, ready to deny their enemy this night, and Cailan felt his heart swell with pride at the sight of them, his countrymen ready to fight and die to save this world from the evil of the horde. It was something that Loghain seemed incapable of understanding, he thought with a short-lived frown; he was not inspired by the thought of glory alone, nor by the fact that so many of his countrymen would willingly place their lives in his hands. They trusted their King, and Cailan would rather die than betray that trust.

Geoffrey and the rest of the King's Guard caught up with their liege lord at the front ranks. "Are all the men prepared?" asked Cailan.

"The Army of Ferelden stands ready, Your Majesty," Geoffrey answered for the group, offering the king his golden helm.

"Leave it."

"But Your Majesty, the scouts report a great number of darkspawn archers" the knight replied diffidently.

"The men should see their lord's face in battle, and know that he bears the same risks as they. Leave it." In the chaos of battle, Cailan knew his bare head and golden armour would make it easy for the soldiers to rally to him if fight turned sour. "Bring it up to the chest in my tent. You have the key, yes?" Not giving his bodyguard a chance to respond, the King sent him on his way, barely deigning to glance at either the frustrated knight or the immense horde that threatened them.

True, the enemy were here in far greater numbers than in the previous battles, but the King maintained an air of resolute confidence in the face of that threat. The darkspawn are nothing, his every gesture spoke. They're already beaten, his posture told the gathered soldiers. He just hoped there would be survivors to warn the rest of Ferelden of the horde, he knew Loghain didn't approve of his 'peace talks' with the empress, but with Anora barren...

He just hoped he was wrong about his general's intentions.

"The plan will work, Your Majesty," Duncan expressed.

"Of course it will," retorted Cailan, joining the twenty-three Grey Wardens atop a wooden platform that gave him a commanding view of the army, and off to the side he saw captain Varel's contingent, and when he met gazes with corporal Hawke they nodded to each other in respect. "The Blight ends here." Briefly, the King wondered if he should give a speech to further rouse the men's spirits, but to his consternation, the darkspawn were advancing far too quickly and there was simply no time to spare.

The army gave a defiant cheer, and across the field, the darkspawn reacted to this show of resolve with an insane fury. Their endless ranks, seeming for all the world like hell unleashed, charged forward, thundering towards Ostagar with all the fury of an angry giant, loud enough to drown out the thunder overhead. The entire mass of the darkspawn attacked together; they did not attempt to weaken the human lines with sustained missile fire, or hold some of their forces in reserve like a normal army would, such tactics were either beyond the feral minds of the darkspawn, either that or their boundless anger had overwhelmed what reason existed.

It was the latter more likely, as with the notable exception of emissaries who were capable of speech, it was a well accepted theory that darkspawn did not think at all, and even the Archdemon could only aim them as one would a spear and left their murderous instincts take it from there.

"Archers!" Cailan cried once the darkspawn were within the archers range, and the arrows took flight with twangs as they were released from their bows or clicks of crossbow gears, the arrowheads enchanted by the mages to burn even through the downpour. The flaming arrows sailed in expert coordination, the flaming missiles flying in beautiful arcs before finding their targets in the heads and necks of darkspawn individuals who looked like they would've been tougher to overcome in close quarters combat.

* * *

From atop the Tower of Ishal, overlooking the entirety the battlefield, the blood spilled and the the bones crunched, the fire and the earth, Morrigan watched the gathering army with curiosity. No one among the host down below would've recognized the young mage if they were able to see high enough to spot her, as she had donned the form of a raven.

She tilted her head in recognition at the sight of the wardens, though there were only two of them as opposed to the four who had wandered into her forest a day prior. She squawked indignantly as the first drops of rain fell on her head.

She took flight, hoping that the movement of her wings would keep the rain out of her feathers.

T'was truly an amazing sight, the battle, but she had seen the advancing darkspawn horde, and knew well that what the assembled soldiers were facing was only the tip of the iceberg.

If the Ferelden King was not careful, he was looking at a possible massacre, and if he was careful... t'would not have been pretty either way.

The unending horde of darkspawn emerged from the mists like waves of the ocean, hurlocks, genlocks, shrieks, ogres and ghouls, both animal and human, outnumbered the allied forces enormously. A massive hurlock alpha led the charge every step of the way; soldier upon soldier falling to its massive ax, roaring into the pouring rain, clearly the vanguard commanding the massive host. If any one darkspawn other than the archdemon could possibly command the horde...

Morrigan flew past to the bridge overlooking the battle field. That is where she saw them, the elf Alim, and that Templar fool, they had made their way quickly across the bridge and were fighting back waves of darkspawn as two human men opened the heavy doors of the tower. Morrigan hovered there, all the while wondering why they were not down below with their fellows.

The men finally managed to get the barred doors open just as the last of the darkspawn fell to the templar's blade, but were almost struck down by two blighted arrows from inside the tower, apparently the darkspawn had managed to breach the edifice.

The tower of Ishal now belonged to the darkspawn.

The wardens and their new allies made for the tower. The elf called out to the wind, asking it to defend them, to keep the spawn from denying them their mission.

The wind responded, it flung the darkspawn warriors into trees and stone pillars, the creatures dying in droves under the assault of the elf's powerful magic, but sadly there were always more.

Morrigan squawked as she was buffeted about by Alim's spell, heading back towards the relative safety of the hut.

She needed to speak with her Mother about what she had witnessed.

If they intended to gain the wardens aid she would likely have to hurry.

The darkspawn were not interested in taking prisoners, not even Grey Warden prisoners.

Lightning flashed overhead, and the battle the battle continued. She couldn't help but wonder if the lightning was natural or if it was called down by the elf.

* * *

Atop the bridge, the work of the archers and siege engines continued, raining destruction down on the flanks of the darkspawn army, hoping to narrow them into a line that the fighters could pick off with minimal casualties to their own side.

Alim and Alistair left them to their duty, focusing on reaching the Tower of Ishal with all haste, though the elf spared a glance for the battle raging below them, and a prayer for those fighting it, though the only notable names he could think of were Hawke, Jena, Cailan, Duncan and Varel... and Carver of course. This was his first taste of full-scale war, and he trembled at the sights and sounds, the full gravity of their situation truly dawning upon him for the first time in the raging conflict before them.

It was all he could do to use his breathing techniques to calm himself, for fear of what might happen if he was unable to draw his blade or cast any spells in actual battle. He reminded himself that this was a normal sensation for those who experienced all-out warfare for the first time, and that it didn't mean he wasn't cut out to be a warrior.

"I take it you know what signal the King's going to use, Alistair?" Alim asked hurriedly as he ran, though he was almost tripped up when a soldier running the opposite direction clipped his shoulder.

"Trust me, I've been told," the older Warden said. "Let's cross the bridge as fast as we can. It'll take us a few minutes to reach the top of the Tower, and I'd rather not miss the signal."

Screams came from the bridge and soldiers were tossed aside as flaming boulders catapulted out of the misty Wilds, hammering the ramparts. One such missile arced into a tall stone tower and took out the upper floors, showering the ground below with broken men and stone. Ferelden's own siege engines answered, and a vicious artillery duel erupted while the two Wardens rushed across the bridge, stopping only to bring a few shaken archers back to their feet. Alim glanced at the battle once more, and beyond the burning light of the firewall, he could see more darkspawn pouring in to reinforce the main horde. Hopefully they can keep that firewall up; if the lines were broken, their forces would begin to take heavy casualties.

"This way!" said Alistair, taking a left up a small rise past the bridge. Alim was right beside him, and noticed the dozen frightened-looking soldiers the same time he did. "What happened here?" the former templar demanded, shocked to discover that many bore wounds.

"You, you're Grey Wardens?" the apparent leader of the troupe, a sergeant by his emblems of rank, hastily tying a bandage about another man's arm. He and the rest of his fellows bore the emblem of the White River Bannorn emblazoned upon their shields, and it was clear that this night had not gone well for them. "You must help us. The Tower, it's been taken!"

"What are you talking about, man? Taken how?"

"The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers somehow; they're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!"

A specter of fear fell upon Alim, and the elf felt his guts turn to ice-water. The battle that had raged at a comparatively safe distance was now right before them, and what had seemed like a duty designed to keep them out of the way of the real fight had become the real fight. "How could this have happened?" He asked in a panic before he stopped and thought about the likelihood of the darkspawn using the main horde as a distraction, drawing the wardens senses toward the plains while tunneling up from under the tower.

Clearly the archdemon had more control of the horde than he had thought, if they were capable of pulling off a pincer maneuver like this.

"It doesn't matter," Alistair replied. "We have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves; Duncan and the King are counting on us!"

"Alright then!" Alim boomed. "I need one runner to inform the rampart companies of the situation! As for the rest of you, follow us. Alistair and myself will lead, but we will need you all to support us!"

Oaths and cries of agreement sounded from the soldiers. Perhaps they did not wish to be outdone in valor by a mere elf, or maybe their pride and sense of responsibility would not allow them to flee from their appointed post, or they were inspired by the presence of the Wardens, or perhaps they were simply eager for revenge against the darkspawn. Whatever it was, it did not matter in the end. When Alim and Alistair stormed into the courtyard surrounding the Tower of Ishal, the two warriors followed, howling for the enemy's death.

At least a dozen darkspawn had occupied the courtyard, though most were busy with mutilating the bodies of the fallen.

He had to wonder why the darkspawn would wast their time with such a thing, but he supposed he would never understand those things.

They gave the enemy no time to consolidate their position in the courtyard. The first hurlock turned just in time to get its neck sliced open by Alim's wickedly edged hand-and-a-half sword. Hurlocks possessed a greater constitution than humans, and would not die immediately from such a wound, so Alim followed up by stabbing it through the heart and kicking the limp body off of his sword. Not even breaking stride, the elf was onto his next opponent, a genlock with a pair of curved daggers stitched to the bloated ends of its elongated arms; Alim brought the horror down with a quick lunge of his sword. Beside him, Alistair ploughed through the enemy, sword singing with their blood and shield crunching bone as he used it as a cruel bludgeon, urging the soldiers of Ferelden to ever-greater deeds of heroism.

"To the tower!" the former templar cried. "Press on to the tower!"

Alim heeded the call, cutting down another hurlock barring the ramp up to the ancient structure and blasting a hurlock bolter that had previously been taking aim at a soldier's exposed back with lightning bolt. He would not fail in this endeavor lest the darkspawn overrun the Ostagar defenders, and the thought of the blight reaching as far north as Lothering or the tower, butchering his cousin and friends and family... the determination drove him ever onward, strengthening both his sword arm and his magic alike.

"For Ferelden and the Wardens!" cried Alistair, raising his sword into the air after he dealt the finishing blow to a hurlock alpha.

"For Ferelden!" the soldiers echoed, the two seemingly simple words symbolizing the fires of patriotism burning ever brighter in their hearts, revitalizing them and driving them ever onward, through pain and exhaustion and through the stinging downpour, making them fight harder and harder.

* * *

"Hounds!" Cailan yelled into the night air, somehow being heard over the growls of the oncoming horde and the downpour and thunderclaps, and on cue a legion of mabari warhounds began their charge across the plains. Some of the hounds were larger than others, but even the smallest one stood with its shoulders at a humans waistline, and they were strong as well, even the weakest was able to pull an armored knight from his horse and maul him and the horse to death. Even the largest army would know fear if they faced a legion of charging, growling and snarling mabari.

The charging warhounds met the horde with a crash, with mabari biting the legs of darkspawn and dragging them through the horde, tearing them and many others apart until they too were cut down, mabari leaping onto alpha's chests and bringing them to the ground before mauling them to pieces and repeating this process several more times before being killed, mabari being impaled with darkspawn swords and daggers but using their death throes to shred their darkspawn aggressors.

Cailan, Duncan and the others within visual range cringed at the sounds of their beloved dogs crying as they were cut down.

The king drew his greatsword in a single movement before raising it to the sky, "for Ferelden!" he cried, pouring into his voice all his pride as the king of these proud people, his anger at the darkspawn who threatened to exterminate all that he held dear, and his hope that his people would emerge victorious before returning to their friends and family.

The people all gave a loud cheer at their kings rallying cry, any disenchantment they might have experienced at the unadulterated evil they were seeing in their enemy dissapearing entirely at the display from their beloved leader.

Their hope renewed, they all charged their enemy as one, each man and woman shouting their war cries along the way.

There was a tremendous crash as the two armies met, the sound of steel hammering crude iron as Fereldens and darkspawn clashed with an impact that shook the earth beneath. Then came the sound of metal striking meat, like a thousand butchers working in unison, punctuated by cries of pain and the howl of bloodthirsty monsters. Yet it was the monsters that experienced death that evening as Cailan's host carved its way through their ranks, a disciplined, solid block of warriors cutting the berserker hordes down where they stood.

At the forefront, Marian Hawke brought Fadeshear down through a hurlock's skull, kicking the tainted corpse away before she brought her sword up diagonally to parry an oncoming blow from another hurlock, its mace clanging harmlessly upon the enchanted silverite of her shield and in a blinding movement beheaded it not two seconds later. Not one to be so easily outdone, Carver took advantage of the temporary opening before it was filled yet again by more darkspawn, charged forward and killed two genlocks with a broad scything slash.

"Bet I end up killing more than you, sister!" came Carver's shouted challenge over the near deafening din of battle, "Stay focused!" Hawke shouted in response. "There's plenty for the both of us!" If Carver became preoccupied with a numbers game then it would only leave him open to a darkspawn knife to the back, and that was not something she would be seeing if she could help it. Her whole reason for being here was that her mother had begged her to protect Carver.

The darkspawn horde was an unstoppable juggernaut, it seemed, as they were inflicting major losses on the armies of Ostagar, yet the Fereldans held the initiative as the warriors at the front held out their shields, overlapping each-other end-to-end, and with all the valor their hearts were capable of, slowly but surely they drove their subterranean foe back. The weight of their advance forcing many darkspawn back into range of the archers and siege weapons, while those at the front lines were being torn to ribbons by spear and greatsword maneuvered over and under the shield line.

It was at the center of the fighting, however, where the men and women looked to see their courage renewed. For there was their king, golden armor gleaming despite the darkness, the blood running down the surface of it, wet with rainwater, his face was exposed to the elements like those of his soldiers who couldn't afford helmets, his golden hair sweeping from side to side as he swung his shining greatsword. Beside him stood the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, twenty-three men and women of prodigious skill and talent, clad in their steel griffon standard mail and plate uniforms, and where they walked, darkspawn fell by the dozens, the hundreds, cut down by gleaming blades, pounded by great hammers, and scythed by arrows.

Then came a new sound onto the battlefield; the hiss of darkspawn speech which indicated the presence of the dreaded emissaries, darkspawn mages. They were tall, twice the height of a full grown human, and very thin, their bone structure easily visible beneath their chalky skin and what little muscle mass they had. Their hands were elongated, their fingers ending in cruel claws. They were clad in crude iron armor and a mockery of a mages robe, completed by a strange helmet (if it could be called that) that exposed their elongated, pointed ears.

With a gesture of their hands, they summoned forth wave after wave of strange darkspawn magic, and entire squads of soldiers collapsed, faces erupting into agonizing blisters, bodies bursting into flame or their minds fragmenting beneath the weight of waking nightmares. The mages of the Circle turned their efforts to shielding the army from the magical onslaught and firing their own magical salvos at the emissaries.

With a vengeful howl, the darkspawn horde charged over the smoldering remains of what was once a firestorm spell and the dozens of charred darkspawn it had felled. Once more, a storm of arrows and crossbow bolts met them, joined this time by the powerful magics of the Circle. Yet more darkspawn died, carpeting the ground with their bodies, and once again, the onrushing horde ignored their losses. "Stand firm, lads!" Cailan shouted, "this is where we break them!"

"Come on, you bastards!" Hawke crowed at the charging foe. "Come get some!" Other soldiers joined in, and soon the entire army was howling curses and insults at the darkspawn, daring them to come and taste Ferelden steel.

Hawke caught sight of Jena charging an Emissary, war cry leading the way, before raising her greatword into a single hand with the other grabbing the blade in the middle, and she shoved her greatsword horizontally into the Emissary's waistline. Showing her acrobatic ability, she grabbed the greatsword's hilt and, with a running start, vaulted onto the sword and used it as a springboard to jump higher, and using the momentum of the jump, ripped the sword from its body before she started to twist in midair, and with a cry she brought the blade down on its head. Using her momentum and the swords weight, the blade cleaved down through its head, neck and torso before she fell to the ground and landed with all the grace of a mountain cat.

"Damn" spoke a wide eyed Hawke.

The darkspawn accepted the challenge and poured into the gorge, some cutting down their brethren in front of them in their haste to bring down their enemy. There was another thunderclap as the two armies met, the terrible clash of metal and flesh, but the darkspawn front line was reduced by the spiked barricades and hedges of sharpened stakes, ensuring that only a relatively small number could strike the Ferelden host at any one time. The charge shuddered against the Ferelden line like a wave crashing against a cliff at sea, the front ranks of the darkspawn breaking into bloody spray.

For those in the front ranks, their world had narrowed down to the monsters before them, all else was lost in the struggle for survival. At the center, companies of soldiers strained to hold their shield-wall against the pressure of the pushing horde, while on the flanks the greatsworders and halberdiers cut down the darkspawn where they stood. The ground was becoming treacherous now with spilled blood and broken bodies, creating yet another obstacle hindering the attackers' progress. Many stumbled over their slain brethren and were quickly put down by the cunning warriors of Ferelden, and the gorge rang with the screams of the dying. And all the while, the mages of the Circle did their work; revitalizing injured and tired troops, sapping the strength of the foremost darkspawn, and striking out against the enemy with blasts of frost and fire and lightning alongside the volleys of the archers.

For the first time it seemed, in the lifetimes of the mages gathered, they seemed like ordinary men and women. They were fighting for the survival of their country, just like everyone else. The magic spewing from their hands, it seemed, was no different than the arrows being launched from the skilled archers or the blades or spears being swung in the hands of skilled practitioners. Perhaps, after the battle was over, they would eat and drink and laugh, celebrate and laud each other just like everyone else.

They would be equals in the eyes of their brothers and sisters in arms, not ruling over them like the Tevinter mages of old, nor serving under them like the Circle mages of now, but true equals.

The thought filled them with hope, and that hope in turn made the fire in their hearts burn all the brighter and made them fight all the harder. They gained a new incentive for fighting the hated darkspawn, hope for the future.

* * *

No battle strategy, no matter how well thought out, survived first contact with the enemy. Unbeknownst to the King, the frantic battle to reclaim the Tower of Ishal raged on. Blasting another hurlock, Alim led the ragged band of defenders through the darkened halls of the ancient edifice, the light of fallen torches displaying the grisly scene before them. The tower garrison had been caught unaware by the invaders, and within the barracks of the first floor, the bodies of soldier and darkspawn alike had been strewn about without abandon.

Alim was relieved to see that the tower defenders had not gone down without a fight, but it would be for nothing if they could not give the signal in time. "Alright then, what's the fastest way to the top of the Tower?"

"There's a staircase on the north side, Warden," the corporal explained. "We used to have a lift that ran up the central shaft, but it looks like the darkspawn smashed the gears."

"To the staircase then. Let's move!"

"Look at that!" Alistair declared, maneuvering a torch down the length of the barracks. Illuminated by the sputtering light of the fire, they could see the massive hole at the end of the room leading down to the fortress' lower levels. "That explains how the darkspawn got in here to begin with. Must have dug a tunnel over the past few nights, then came up through the catacombs beneath the fortress."

"We were never able to fully chart the lower levels, Wardens," said the corporal, eyes bulging in horror at the thought of darkspawn waiting to strike beneath them. "A lot of the chambers had collapsed or were blocked off, and with all the battles, we've never had the men to spare. They could have been digging this for days, and we'd never have known!"

"Nothing we can do about it now," said the elf, nervously glancing at the collapsed floor. They had neither the time nor the means to block it off, nor could they spare anyone to guard it in case any more darkspawn emerged. "Lighting that signal is our main priority. Let's move!"

The ragged band pushed deeper into the Tower, and almost immediately came under attack from the darkspawn marauders that had laid the garrison to waste. The Wardens struck first, cutting their way through the packs of grinning genlocks and snarling hurlocks that opposed them, punching a hole through the darkspawn to allow the soldiers to lay in with their long spears. At the stairwell leading up to the second floor, a gang of genlock archers awaited them, their black-fletched arrows shrieking down the hall. The first of the soldiers fell, peppered by their shafts, and Alistair ordered the rest into a shieldwall. "Alim, the door!" he shouted in warning, seeing one of the genlocks break from the pack and flee towards the heavy wooden door securing the stairwell.

With a great shout, Alistair and the soldiers collided with the darkspawn, and Alim stormed into the breach. The genlock had just opened the door when the elf cut it down, and he allowed the momentum of the charge to carry himself through to the top of the stairs, his blade slamming against the sword of another darkspawn. More darkspawn lurked beyond, evidently planning on securing the door and keeping their counterattack from going any further, but Alim was there, denying them. Viciously, the monsters attacked, knowing that the elf was the only obstacle keeping them from stopping the defenders in their tracks. Ducking a wild blow, Alim slipped under the foe's guard and slashed open its torso before shoulder-checking the mortally wounded darkspawn into its brethren to buy him some breathing room. Stumbling over each other, the darkspawn were easy prey for his magic, and by the time Alistair and the others reached him, the top of the staircase was clear, either side of the staircase lined with frozen darkspawn statues. "Everyone alright?" asked the elf as he flicked blood of his blade.

"We're good," Alistair replied for all of them. "Maker, that was desperate!"

"And we're not done yet. Corporal, how many levels are there above us?"

"Just two more, Warden. Third floor's mostly storerooms, then there's the top floor where the beacon is."

"And all of which are probably swarming with the darkspawn right now," remarked Alistair. "There aren't supposed to be any here anyways!"

"Well, you're the one who wanted a fight, and I think we've definitely got one," Alim quipped, taking up his sword once more. "Stay focused, everyone. We've got plenty of ground to cover, and time is against us."

And yet, even as he spoke those words, Alim's attention shifted to the broken masonry about the solid stone doorframe, barely illuminated by the sparse wall sconces. It was a large portal, able to fit two men shoulder to shoulder, but something had torn down or damaged several bricks on its way through.

Something big.

There was no time to consider it further. Darkspawn howls echoed in the night, and Alim took the lead, feeling the shadowy hand of the sundial move with each passing moment…

* * *

The Army of Ferelden had a superior defensive position. They had the high ground of the fortress upon which to assail the darkspawn horde, and the magics of the Circle mages to keep their tiring soldiers capable of fighting, and to lay waste to the tightly-massed enemy. They had superior equipment and discipline, coordination and sheer, stubborn pride.

Between the various arms of their host, the Fereldans had slain thousands of darkspawn. Enough that on some parts of the battlefield, darkspawn corpses had fallen three or four deep, a bumper crop of desecrated flesh, ground to pulp beneath the weight of those climbing over them as if they were merely an obstacle. The seven thousand soldiers of Ferelden had executed a resilient and noteworthy defense that, on any other night, would have been enough to shatter the enemy formation and send them fleeing.

On this night however, it was hardly sufficient. As hard as they fought, for all that it had cost the darkspawn, the Army of Ferelden was slowly being pushed back, forced down into the gorge inch by bloody inch with the horde flowing in after them. Nearly the entire horde was packed into the valley now, sucked in by the human's fighting retreat, and at the mouth of the gorge, they were condensed so thickly they could not swing their weapons.

 _'Almost time'_ , King Cailan thought, observing the flow of the battle with an educated eye. "Send forth the rest of the reserve units," he ordered a runner, his booming voice nearly lost in the roar of battle.

In the face of all this death and reckless hate, he was once again reminded of what he knew about Loghain's inevitable betrayal of him and his own, and he almost lost heart. But he steeled himself, it would not do to give in to despair, for if his men were to die, he would prefer that they died with hope.

The troops at the front line would be weary now, and there was only so much the mages could do to restore their lost strength. They'd need fresh troops if they were to continue holding the line. There was little reason to withhold their full strength any longer. "Inform the archer companies that they are to continue their volleys for as long as possible. Should we run out of arrows, I want them out here to reinforce the battle-line, just in case."

"It is time, Your Majesty," said Duncan, gesturing with his sword at the milling darkspawn beyond the wall, gaining ground on their army. "See how the horde is compressing into the valley and gorge? Signal the teryn now, while they are concentrating their attention and have no room to maneuver. We can win still the day, but Loghain must strike."

"Then strike he will. Signal the Tower of Ishal! Let the beacon be lit!"

* * *

If there had been any doubts left in his harried mind about the vile nature of the darkspawn, what Alim saw on the third floor erased them permanently. This part of the tower had served as a kennel for a pack of mabari warhounds, and most of them were still in their pens when the darkspawn attacked. The enclosures were solidly built with thick, heavy wooden bars and sturdy metal hinges and locks, and despite their best efforts, the warhounds could not escape their tormentors, their plaintive moans and howls filling the room, drowning out the sadistic chuckles of the darkspawn as they stabbed the helpless animals through the gaps in the bars.

The fury that had kindled in Alim's heart through the long night burst into flame. "Vile creatures!" he roared, unleashing a gout of lightning from his fingers that scythed through a host of genlocks.

"Hit them hard while they're disorganized!" ordered Alistair. "Someone pull the lever!"

Near the door leading to the staircase, the defenders had installed a great wooden contraption that connected to the pen doors through a system of pulleys and ropes. Alim ordered his fellow warden and the tower defenders to distract the darkspawn, and evidently the humans had long gotten past his status as an elf and as a mage as they heeded his order immediately and without argument, allowing him to break away from the fight without trouble, and seizing the lever he yanked it downwards.

With the squeak of gears and the creak of ropes, the pen doors flew open, and the dozen vengeful hounds set upon their tormentors. In moments, the entire darkspawn war-band was thrown into utter chaos, outflanked by the hounds and soldiers, set upon by teeth, claws and swords.

A stray darkspawn came rushing in at the elf from behind, a broken and jagged sword raised high, but Alim was prepared for anything after the harrowing events of the past month, and the darkspawn ran face first into a barrier. Feeling the impact, Alim summoned a spectral blade and spun on his heel, beheading it in a single move. In the chaos of the fight, a darkspawn blade slashed his upper arm, his barrier absorbing the worst of the blow, but that blow had pushed the barrier to its limit, shattering it and slicing through his mail and making a small cut on his arm. Fighting through the sudden pain, Alim charged the blade's owner, and soon, a hurlock fell headless.

"Keep pressing them, we're almost to the top of the tower!"

In the eye of the hurricane, Alistair confronted the emissary leading the war-band, the air around them buzzing with intense eldritch power. Calling upon his templar training, the human sapped the creature's mana, its next spell fizzling away into nothingness. Shrieking in dismay, it lashed out with its wickedly sharp claws, but with lackadaisical ease, Alistair blocked and parried the undisciplined attacks and sliced through its leg, one of the warhounds pouncing on the toppled darkspawn not an instant later.

The warband's coordination seemed to die along with their leader, and the rest were quickly mopped up by the combined efforts of the Wardens, soldiers and warhounds.

Hissing in pain, Alim permitted himself to slump against the wall for a moment, easing the strain in his aching body with the white-yellow glow of healing magic. "Are you all right, Alim?" Alistair asked, noticing the shredded links of mail on his arm.

"It's nothing. If you'll pardon a cliche, it's just a scratch." Wincing, Alim got to his feet, noticing that the surviving hounds were now clustered around him, sitting back on their haunches and staring at him expectantly, some of them tilting their heads adorably. "What's all this then?"

"Think they're looking to you for orders," said Alistair, shrugging at the elf's questioning glance. "They're mabari, right? You're clearly the leader here, they seem to they know that."

 _'Smart dogs'_ thought the elf, clearing his throat. He took stock of their situation, the tower was almost completely clear of darkspawn now, but the four of them were getting tired, and they would need the extra help to clear the rest, even if it was just the rest of this floor and the chamber at the top. Even so, a part of himself found the idea of ordering dogs around to be utterly laughable.

"Alright then, uh, dogs, there's a hole on the first floor that the darkspawn are coming up from, I need you to go down there and keep them from attacking us from behind."

For a brief moment, Alim felt incredibly foolish, but the kennelmaster had not lied to him about their how intelligent these dogs were. Barking their understanding, the hounds stood on all fours and streamed down the stairs to their appointed station, a river of fur and fangs that passed within moments.

"I admit there was a part of me that honestly didn't think that would work."

"Well, mabari are at least as smart as the average tax collector," Alistair reminded the elf, and even if Alim didn't get the joke the soldiers gave a hearty chuckle as they dashed on ahead of them. "Let's hope they can hold the line long enough for reinforcements to get here." Alistair said, once again in a serious tone, "last thing we need is more darkspawn coming up behind us."

"Truly," said Alim, forcing the aches and pains away. The wound on his arm was the most serious he had taken that evening, but it was small and there was no loss of mobility, and his spectral swords were weightless and his one physical sword was so light there would be no aggravation of the wound. The rest of his wounds were mere bruises and scrapes, nothing worth slowing down for, and he noticed that Alistair bore similar injuries without a word on complaint.

He'd rest when he was dead. Right now, they didn't have any more time to spare just standing around like this.

When they left the main room and made their way through the hallway, more darkspawn burst out of the side rooms, previously used to store weapons and armor. _'This is getting old'_ Alim thought as they cut them down with swords, crossbow bolts and magic.

Ascending the last few steps, the bloodied warriors could only gape in horror at the hulking nightmare that knelt near the beacon, the awful sound of the rending of flesh and the snap of bones in its meaty hands echoing through the chamber. The creature was immense, at least ten feet tall, all of it brimming with corded muscles that writhed like pythons beneath the pale, mottled skin. It wore little in the way of armour, merely a loincloth and crude iron plates strapped to various places on its body, though the creature looked formidable enough that what little armor it did have seemed more like a luxury than a utility.

Hearing them, the thing stood to its full, intimidating height and turned, its footfalls causing the stone to shudder, and from beneath a prominent brow-line and a pair of long, sweeping horns, sunken eyes narrowed hatefully at the intruders. Each thunderous breath carried the stench of bone marrow and the taint, while its booming roar sent great gobs of spittle gushing from the maw lined with yellowed teeth. Behind him, Alim could hear the tower guards stumble backwards in fear, even as he forced away the tremor in his hands.

"Ogre!" cried Alistair, identifying the monster before them. "All of you, spread out! Hit it from every direction possible! Use those crossbows, aim at its eyes!"

Any other useful advice Alistair might have given was lost in the ogre's charge, bellowing it's fury to all who would listen. The soldiers and wardens scattered as the beast charged, crushing the half eaten corpses and hurling them away underfoot. Alistair shouted for the men to rally, but the creature was upon them, their swords and bolts cutting through its unprotected flesh but if it felt any pain then it did not display it.

Alim summoned the strongest lightning spell he had ever attempted, and as the bright purple lightning burst forth from his fingertips and impacted the beast's flesh he expected its muscles to lock up and freeze in place as the smaller darkspawn had, but it did not. It turned in place, though the movement was halted and slow, and roared at him. Eyes wide in fear, he could only draw Glamdring and dodge to the side as it charged at him in a frenzy.

* * *

Within the gorge, the battle for Ferelden's survival raged on, seemingly without end, with mortal and darkspawn locked in merciless conflict, no quarter given by any. The heroism and valor committed on that bloodstained field were beyond counting, undertaken by highborn nobles, common soldiers, dwarves of the deep, and elven servants who had lifted blade and banner to show their worth in the eyes of any and all who would witness it, each and every one of them worthy of story and song and accolades. History was written that night, and each man and woman fought so that said history would be accredited to their courage.

There was Walter deGray, a lieutenant of one of the archer companies in the gorge. He and his keen-eyed bowmen cut down hundreds of darkspawn with their longbows, and when their supply of arrows inevitably ran dry, they took up the spears and poleaxes of the fallen rather than retreat and regroup as had been expected of them, and joined the main battleline, throwing themselves into the face of death without hesitation. Dying so that others did not have to.

There was Arl Urien Kendalls of Denerim, holding the left wing of the Ferelden formation. He had been a disinterested ruler, a poor husband and a terrible father, but on that night he proved that, if nothing else, he was a proper soldier. When their defenses began to falter, the Arl did not run, but rather anchored his seven hundred knights, denying the enemy advance. It took a rush of ogres to break their position, and even then, the soldiers of Denerim took many of the titanic foes with them. He was amongst the last of his seven hundred to die, striking at the seething tide of darkspawn with his halberd and shortsword, his last breath spent cursing the monsters driving their jagged swords into his chest.

And then there was Marian Hawke, a farm-girl and secret mage from Lothering whose destiny lay far beyond her humble origins. There were many skilled swordsmen within Third Company, but none could hold a candle to the raven-haired warrior, her two-handed saber and shield slaked in darkspawn gore. Face grim with determination and indomitable will, she cut down the brutes, each slash dispatching hurlocks and genlocks and shrieks with almost casual ease, her fadefire blue eyes sweeping over the field, marking her allies and her enemies. Those who must be protected and those who must be destroyed.

Hawke, Kendalls and DeGray... these people among many others would achieve much glory and valor that night… but it would not be remembered by any but the spirits who watched from behind the certain that separated their worlds.

* * *

Alistair ducked a wild blow from the ogre, and was glad that he had when that same blow shattered a stone column.

The creature was clumsy and stupid but extremely vicious, lumbering and charging in a disorganized frenzy, but smashing everything caught underneath with an unnatural rage. Roaring, it pounced on one of the tower guards, hammering him to pulp beneath its massive fists, the force of its landing throwing the former templar off of his feet with the vibrations.

The other guard who had accompanied them moved to press the attack, but a single sweep of its arm hurled him aside with bone-shattering force, however the guard managed to lift a pike from the ground and run it through the thing's wrist. The ogre roared in anger and pain, swinging its injured arm around wildly, demolishing the nearby columns but also making it forget temporarily about the wardens.

Alim moved to take advantage of the ogre's distraction and started weaving a powerful fire spell, but was caught off guard when a slab of granite from a smashed column smacked into his forehead, knocking him into the ground. Alistair ran to his companion, becoming more and more concerned when he noticed the generous amount of blood dripping from the elf's cranium.

Stunned by the impact, the elf could hardly see, but noticed a large form rushing toward him, and desperately stretched his staff out before him, using the first spell he could think of. Luckily the spell he ended up using against the ogre was an ice spell, though a simple one, but with him pouring all the power he had left into it...

Alim let out a shaky breath and dropped his staff to the ground with a metallic clang. Lifting one arm, feeling as if he were lifting a heavy lead bar, he wiped the blood from his eyes. Looking up, his eyes widened. Alistair stood with his back facing Alim, his expression one of awe at the sight of the large chamber filled with snow and walls covered in ice.

The most shocking part of it all was the ogre, frozen solid mid charge.

Alistair silently circled the ogre, observing the carnage, before he shook his head, reminding himself of what he was here for. Using his templar training to calm his mind and slow his racing heart, he went over to the brazier, thanking his lucky stars that the ice and snow missed this area. While Alistair finished doing what they came here for, Alim slowly stood on shaky legs. He felt the blood caked in his hair and sighed.

* * *

Angrily, Carver Hawke struggling against his sister's grip, ignoring the terrible gash down his upper arm. "What are you doing? I can still fight!"

"Don't be a hero, Carver!" Marian Hawke replied, since both brother and sister knew that he was too wounded and weak to fight, stubborn and hardheaded as he was, her Orlesian shield all that was keeping her wounded brother separate from the seething mass of evil that was even now filling the gorge, their line advancing further and further as the darkspawn pressed the soldiers of Ostagar into full retreat. A hurlock alpha hit her shield with its massive halberd, the jagged blade carving a deep scar into the wood and steel, the weight behind the blow almost staggering her, but with her brothers help she remained upright. A second blow from the alpha weakened the shield to the breaking point.

She looked around for someone, anyone to help them with their desperate situation, but saw that everyone else was distracted. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jena, but before she could yell to the dark-skinned woman her eyes widened in horror.

Jena's left arm was cut cleanly off at the shoulder.

She had switched her greatsword out for a bastard sword dropped by a slain warden, lacking the strength of a second arm to use the heavy blade any longer.

Hawke was cut out of her musing by her shield shattering, knocking her back into her brothers arms with the force of the alpha's blow.

Hawke looked in shock at her now broken arm. The raven-haired warrior was tiring, and their army was beginning to falter. For thee and a half hours they fought as hard and skillfully as they could manage, but there were simply too many of them, while their own numbers only shrank with every passing minute. Where there were once seven circle mages bolstering the soldiers and attacking the enemy with their magic, there were now three exhausted men and women wearing only cloth robes for protection, but who picked up sword, shield, and spear to fight alongside their fellows.

The only ones who remained uncommitted in the assault were Loghain's forces, who in any other circumstances would have served as the vanguard, the elite soldiers bearing the standard of the house of Gwaren cutting down tens of darkspawn before inevitably falling themselves, in which case the battle would no doubt be going very differently.

The end result would have been the same however, the horde just too massive for their added numbers to truly make a difference in the end. But the soldiers didn't know this, and didn't care. They were merely waiting for the signal to launch their flanking strike… and the Tower of Ishal remained as cold and lifeless as ever.

The hurlock shoved forward, planting its halberd into the ground and drawing a massive sword that only an alpha could have been able to use one-handed. Hawke tried to parry with Fadeshear, but with her only able to use one arm the parry was too weak, the the black iron sword smacking against her right bicep with bruising force, luckily she managed to keep Fadeshear between the cruel blade and her arm, otherwise it would have been severed. Gritting her teeth at the pain, she kicked it off of her and brought the saber down on the alpha's head.

But there were always more of them to fill the gap, too many, and Hawke screamed her defiance as they attacked, she couldn't protect both her brother and herself with a broken arm, not exhausted as she was.

She had no choice, sheathing her sword, she held her hand in front of her, readying a force spell. Exhausted as she was, her mana reserves were entirely untouched.

But before she could use her prepared spell, a bastard sword sliced the head off of the hurlock before her. Hawke gasped in surprise even as the power in her hand faded, even as Jena's sword cut apart almost a dozen monsters with extreme prejudice.

"Take out your sword Hawke!" The dusky-skinned goddess called over her mangled shoulder, and with her mind reeling she drew Fadeshear. The familiar two-handed saber in her hand once more, she steeled her mind, if this woman could fight with exhaustion and only one arm, Hawke could do it too.

And then, it came. Like the first light of dawn, the beacon atop the Tower of Ishal finally came to life with a brilliance that illuminated all of Ostagar, chasing away the darkness. It was as if the horrors of the battle dissipated in that moment, and as one the King's army cheered at the sight of the brilliant flame that lit up the dark corners of their hearts, filling them with renewed courage and hope. Even with less than half of the numbers they had at the start of the battle, they counterattacked with unmatched ferocity, halting the enemies advance to a grinding halt.

Hawke caught a glimpse of the King in his golden armour, a star burning bright among the darkness and despair of this darkest of nights, leading his battered soldiers back into the fight. "Alim" Hawke muttered fondly, a single tear dropping from her eye.

* * *

Grunting with each step, Alim trudged his burnt out body forward towards the frozen ogre. Drawing his sword in a labored movement, he thrusted it through the icy shell and into the thing's heart, before pulling it out and into the thing's brain, not taking any chances with it.

Stepping back, he sheathed his sword before sighing tiredly. A hand came up to his forehead as he found the source of the blood, despite the large size of the piece of rubble that hit him, the cut was very small, and was located at the outer end of his left eyebrow, lucky as it could have been far worse, but it would still leave a scar. He was getting quite the collection, _'I just hope women are impressed by scars'_ he thought amusedly.

He'd have a headache comparable to hangover come morning. But alas, the injury was a minor concern given everything that had happened that night. The beacon was now lit, and Alim dragged his tired feet toward the window, overlooking the battle down below. He could see how badly they were losing, and how the lighting of the beacon managed to inspire the forces they had left.

It had come at a cost, though. Both of the tower guards accompanying them had managed to fight their way up the tower alive only to fall against the mighty ogre. He was only lucky that in exchange for their preternatural strength and battle prowess, the biggest of the darkspawn were extremely susceptible to magical attacks. At the tower's balcony, Alistair finished resetting his shoulder, shoving the joint back into place with a sickening crunch.

Alim didn't know when it was dislocated in the first place, but the lapse in attention could be forgiven considering the situation. "You should get that looked at," Alim told the former templar, noticing how stiffly his shield arm moved.

"I highly doubt there's any spare healers at the moment, and your magics all out. It's just a little sore, I can still use it," replied Alistair, moving to stand at his side, gazing out the window to see the progress of the battle.

Hit by a sudden wave of drowsiness, Alim turned in place and slid down the wall to rest for a moment. "How's it looking out there?" Alim asked, leaning his head against the wall and shutting his eyes.

Leaning over the edge of the large window and straining his eyes, Alistair cast his gaze upon the battlefield. The intensity of the fighting illuminated by the many fires dotting the ruined fortress, lit either by flaming boulders that had crashed into them or by torches used by either side to get the upper hand on the other. "I'm no tactician, but it doesn't look good. King Cailan's forces are being pressed back into the gorge and the ruins themselves, but it looks like King Cailan's forces have caught their second wind.

"There's no room to swing a dead cat down there." He tried to joke, but Alim didn't even crack a smile.

"Once the flanking charge comes in, the horde will be caught in-between and trapped."

Alistair spoke with a confidence that he simply didn't posses, he was no leader and had little to no talent for tactics, and to try to read a battlefield like this made him nervous and fidgety, afraid that he would miss some crucial detail and mess up the whole thing.

"Wait," Alistair said, his voice suddenly concerned.

"What?"

Alistair didn't hear him. Alim's voice suddenly sounded like it was miles away, for in that moment, his entire world dissipated, and only the nightmare before his widened eyes remained. Alistair tried to voice what he was feeling in that moment, but no words would leave his gaping mouth, and the only expression of the shock, anger and sadness in his heart was the tears that fell from his eyes in a volume he didn't think was possible for a human.

* * *

The cheering from the gorge and ruins as the signal ignited was echoed by the three thousand men and women atop the ridge to the east of Ostagar, and Ser Cauthrien of Gwaren added her voice to theirs.

She had won much glory in her time as the most elite of Loghain's knights. Cauthrien was perhaps the finest swordswoman in the country, and a part of her wondered if the darkspawn would finally offer her the long-awaited challenge she craved. Beside her, Loghain was silent, his face taciturn and his eyes shadowed, it looked as if he were debating heavily with himself, but she dismissed the thought as absurd. "Captain Tully," she spoke in her icy voice, "once we reach the valley floor, we are to move fast and strike hard," she ordered a nearby officer. "The darkspawn must not be given time to react. The cavalry will lead the charge with lances in front, and behind-"

"Sound the retreat."

Cauthrien speech halted before she could get out another word, and it took her mind a moment to register what her General had said, and indecision and doubt took hold of her. "My lord, the King—he" Loghain interrupted her by grabbing her forearm roughly.

"Saving Ferelden from those who would destroy her requires that sacrifices be made." Cauthrien gulped fearfully at the very thought that the man before her was willing to commit a massive betrayal like this merely as part of some greater strategy to defeat the darkspawn... but no, the look in his eyes was the same one he wore when ranting about the Orlesians...

"The King has made his choice, and I have made mine. There is nothing to be gained here, and I will not throw the lives of my men away for Cailan's vanity. Sound the retreat."

Loghain released her arm, and Cauthrien had to fight to contain the panic rising within her, realizing exactly what her liege lord intended. The knight met her lord's stony gaze with her own, and for one brief, glorious instant, she considered denying that order. But she lived and died on Loghain's word, her zealous loyalty to him quickly overriding her misgivings about this plan..

"All of you, move out!" There it was, those simple words that ushered in the eventual damnation of the house of Gwaren and the disbanding of everything that had anything to do with it. The men and women of the flanking force, their units hand-picked by Loghain, did not protest, they had faith in their General. They could not fathom his mind, and even an order like this must have been for the greater good. Right?

And so, even as their countrymen fought and died to stem the tide of evil, Loghain and his three thousand men, their swords unbloodied, marched away from the battlefield and left King Cailan to his fate.

Just as Loghain had always intended.

Within the gorge at Ostagar, the light of hope that had burned within Cailan and his soldiers flickered and died, the host of brave warriors meant to ride to their rescue lost to betrayal. Cailan's host did not die easily, and the losses they inflicted on the raging horde would have been enough to cripple any other host, but they died all the same.

Soldiers died.

Nobles died.

Wardens died.

At the forefront, Duncan and Cailan stood back to back with the remnants of Maric's Shield, the bloodstained eye of the hurricane that raged around them. Cailan's greatsword hacked the darkspawn down as they came, shearing through their crude armour, while Duncan's twin blades became a whirlwind of steel. Nothing else existed for the Warden Commander in that moment, nothing but the struggle for survival and the need to defend his royal charge, so he remained willfully ignorant of the bodies raining down from the ramparts until the first splatter of blood smeared his armour.

"Maker no," gasped Cailan, the darkspawn forgotten, his blue eyes fixed at the horror above.

Alim's warning about the breach in the Tower of Ishal had gotten through, and the pack of mabari hounds had held the line for as long as they could, but it was all for naught as they were cut down without mercy. Atop the ramparts and heights of Ishal, cackling bands of darkspawn butchered the reinforcements before hurtling their ravaged corpses into the gorge below. Some had the misfortune to be thrown off living, their screams introducing their compatriots below to a brand-new horror, their hearts faltering at the sound.

Duncan moved to the side in time to avoid what was left of the Grand Cleric, and more than a few of the King's bodyguards retched at the sight. Spearmen moved to aid their King, but it was clear to all that the fight had gone out of them.

"Where's Loghain?" the King demanded, though he already knew. "We would have known if he had been attacked. Why isn't he here?" He wanted to deny it, if only to himself. But he had known the man for years, and thus had not missed the signs.

"Your Majesty, what do we do?" one of the knights pleaded.

Cursing the Teryn's name, Cailan composed himself, bowing to the inevitable. "Signal the retreat to all units. Any surviving members Maric's Shield are to lead the way; if the darkspawn get in their path, they're to kill them and open the way for our withdrawal. The rest of the army is to follow them out, but any who volunteer are to stay here and delay the darkspawn for as long as necessary. Spread the word and do it now!" he barked, sending the appointed messengers running.

"Your Majesty, you should retreat with the your men," urged Duncan. "Our position here is becoming untenable."

"There are men still on the field, Duncan. I will not abandon them to pain and death just so that I may live another day," Cailan replied, taking up his greatsword once more. "Rally to me!" He yelled, raising the blood soaked sword high into the air like a beacon of hope.

Ahead of them, the men who elected to stay behind to give their fellows a chance to flee struggled to keep the enemy at bay, hundreds of darkspawn hammering at their shieldwall. The spearmen gave a good last stand, cutting the frenzied monsters down from behind the wall, but then the emissaries brought their sorcery to play, conjuring swarms of flesh-eating insects that slipped through the gaps in the soldiers' armour.

The center of their line began to collapse as the sound of agonized screams filled the air, and the darkspawn pressed the assault, cleaving their way towards the color epicenter of the ruins and the precious golden knight they gave their lives to defend. Sensing the threat, the spearmen rallied, forming a new shieldwall.

The formation was surprisingly sturdy despite being hastily-assembled, yet it only lasted mere moments before the darkspawn broke through, a hurlock alpha ripping the standard bearer apart with a saw-toothed greatsword and maul, trampling their banner into the mud as if it were nothing.

Enraged at the deaths of their allies and the disrespect towards their heraldry, the surviving warriors counterattacked with a desperate savagery, mercilessly slaughtering the darkspawn in their haste to retrieve the precious standard. To lose one's banner was the ultimate disgrace to a knight, dwarfing even death or defeat, and even the meanest, coarsest brute of their number would die before surrendering it to enemy hands. Cailan led the charge, levelling his blade towards the alpha. "He's mine! Mine!"

Shrieking, the alpha met the King's challenge, wielding its greatsword in one hand while the other held the maul with its stone head on the ground behind it, ready to smash its target into paste.

Cailan dodged the fast but predictable swing of the maul and swung his sword toward the creature, but was blocked at the last moment. Cailan responded with a high thrust that nicked its neck, the darkspawn whirling away, blood gushing from its throat. The King's next blow took its maul hand off at the wrist, moving to the side to avoid the falling hammer, and pivoted on his heel, the momentum allowing his greatsword to bite deeply into the alpha's side, and the thing fell to the ground dead.

Cailan grabbed he fallen banner and ripped it from the muddy ground, and drove the pole end deep into the same spot that it might stand proudly where it had once laid in defeat.

Rushing to catch up to the King, Duncan was the only one who heard the distant roar, the vengeful howl that kindled the song in his blood and sent fear down his spine. He heard it, crawling through his mind, arrogant, self-assured, and fully aware that victory was in its grasp…

A second roar cut through Duncan's reverie, but where the last one was miles away and heard only in his mind, this one was immediate. It emerged from the throat of an ogre that had charged headlong into the Ferelden shieldwall, smashing their formation like a hammer through so much glass.

Duncan moved to intercept the darkspawn, only to be swatted aside with a backhand strike of its meaty fist, shattering ribs and throwing him clear of the fray. Cailan's greatsword lashed out, slicing deep into its bicep, but nothing would deter the beast from its target, and in the most demoralizing moment in the entire battle, more so than even the betrayal of one of their own, grasped the King in its grip.

Enraged soldiers moved to aid their King, but they were too few, and were quickly torn apart by the lesser darkspawn surrounding it. The stench of the creature pervaded Cailan's senses, and he winced as the creature brought him up to its face, its rank breath booming like a great drum, gobs of caustic spittle scoring his armour. Beady eyes studied the King like some exotic specimen, and the ogre's lips curled back into an enraged snarl.

And with a forceful squeeze and a wet crunch, the ogre crushed King Cailan's torso and armor like a grape. Wheezing in pain, his final breath was driven out by the creature hurling his broken body into a knot of his men, ending the life of the man who would have earned the pride of the great King Calenhad himself without a shadow of a doubt.

The remaining soldiers of Maric's Shield left on the field went mad with grief at the loss of their lord sovereign, and the thought of his remains being carried away as a trophy by the vile creatures was more than their harrowed minds could stand. They counterattacked, screaming like madmen, their sheer fury overcoming the darkspawn momentarily. Others joined them; archers bearing whatever came to hand, battered halberdiers, their weapons blunted to uselessness, spearmen abandoning the protective confines of the shieldwall, a furious rush of soldiers, beyond all reason now. But the darkspawn were simply too numerous, washing over the humans in a tide of blood, and above it all, the ogre stood triumphant, roaring boastfully over the warring darkspawn.

It was then that the spirit world bore witness to the last heroic act of Warden Commander Duncan, enraged at the loss of his friend and his mind fraying from the Calling, he charged the ogre, blades drawn, the tremendous pain of his wounds a distant memory. Stray darkspawn moved to intercept him, only to be swiftly cut down by his silverite blades. The ogre turned, just in time to offer Duncan his opening. Leaping, the Warden-Commander buried his blades up to the hilt in its chest, using them to scale the beast.

These were superlative blades, each enchanted to be the bane of darkspawn, and the ogre howled and thrashed in agony as Duncan drove his longsword into the beast's heart, twisting it and then using it as a stepping stone to sink his dagger into its main artery. Twisting his head to avoid the scalding spray of blood, Duncan grimly held on, forcing the blades in as far as he was able, even as the ogre fell and died, crushing lesser darkspawn beneath its bulk.

The impact rattled Duncan's broken ribs, and he fell to his knees, his blades still planted in the ogre's body. Worse than his physical injuries was the awful realization of what had transpired, the looming spectre of defeat that overwhelmed all.

Retreat became rout. The Army of Ferelden had fought hard and well, but even the finest soldiers could only do so much, and with the loss of their King and departure of their general, they had nothing more to give. Those too slow to escape the encircling darkspawn were mercilessly hacked apart, their screams ringing out from the camps and the heights.

And Duncan was left alone in the Ostagar, crawling on his hands and feet to his friends broken body, his head knelt in prayer.

The darkspawn encircled the Warden, hissing and snapping. Even their bestial minds understood that, despite being badly wounded Duncan was a dangerous foe, so they kept their distance, working themselves into a frenzy, waiting for the numbers they thought they'd need to overwhelm him. _Not as many as they might think,_ Duncan told himself.

He had been badly wounded before, but nothing like this. Death would come for him this eve, whether he simply bled out or they elected finished the job. But after all, death was a Warden's constant companion. What had he to fear on that account?

Glancing upwards with weary eyes, Duncan saw the flame of Ishal remained undimmed. Yes, there was hope left for Ferelden. The army was beaten, but Alim and Alistair survived. It would have to be enough. He knew it was cruel of him to set the weight of the world on just two souls, but the Maker was not kind to his subjects.

He sighed, surrendering to fate. Had he been a younger man, he would have took up one of the many blades that littered the ground and took as many darkspawn as he could with him. But he was old and gray from a weary life, and whatever fate had in store for him after this, then he would meet it with an open heart.

He closed his eyes and accepted what was to come with a quiet serenity.

He heard heavy footsteps, but did not open his eyes even as the Hurlock Vanguard came for him with its giant ax.

He did not struggle, not even as the Vanguard swung the ax.

Duncan did not cry out in pain when the ax cleaved his head from his shoulders, and when it hit the ground the spirits wept for his loss.

* * *

"Alistair!?" Alim yelped as his friend suddenly screamed after an eternity of shocked silence, witnessing the scene in the valley with abject horror. For one brief instant, Alim swore that the former templar seemed intent on leaping from the tower. "Alistair!" Alim yelled when his friend started stiffly running toward the stairwell.

He got up on shaky legs, not having had any time to heal while he was resting beneath the window.

Alim gasped in shock as a blackened crossbow bolt hit his shoulder with a wet thud, and fell to the ground as three more thudded into his torso, punching clean through his armor.

He heard a pained cry from Alistair as he too fell to the ground, chest riddled with bolts.

Everything had gone numb. Even the bolts piercing his body had ceased to hurt, and the leaden weight of his body quickly becoming the only sensation he felt. _Leorah, Irving, Wynne, Anders... everyone, I'm so sorry,_ he thought, the darkness closing in. _I failed you all._ As his life drained away, he heard the sound of great wings beats on the wind before a giant crow flew through the window of the tower.

He must have been delirious, because he saw the crow transform into Flemeth. She looked down at him and smiled before she focused on the darkspawn, and with a single swing of her staff the dozen or so darkspawn exploded into bloody gore.

She looked at the barely conscious elf and put a finger to her lips. She made a shush sound at him, and then everything went black

* * *

A/N: Well, that was certainly dramatic, wasn't it? I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I know it was a long time coming, and that you didn't find the changes I made to the battle too jarring. I wanted to expand upon the Battle of Ostagar a bit in order to fully convey its importance. Jena's ultimate fate will not be revealed until the sequel featuring Hawke, as this one will be told from the perspectives of Alim and his companions.


	12. After the Storm Part 1

Wide eyes shot open, lungs gasping for air and hands reaching for his weapons as Alim violently awoke. Brilliant eyes raced to and fro in bewilderment and fear, but saw to his astonishment, not the stone walls of Ishal's uppermost chamber. Instead, he was on a bed in a cozy wooden hut, the hearth blazing in the stone fireplace lending a pleasant warmth to his naked skin.

His armor wasn't anywhere to be found, but after everything that had happened... he didn't imagine that it could be in very good shape. Perhaps whoever brought him here just threw it away. His sword was leaning against the bedside table to his immense relief. He grabbed it by the royal blue leather wrapped scabbard, immediately feeling relieved by its presence.

His bow was long gone, dropped at the bottom of the tower. He had ran out of arrows clearing out the first few waves of darkspawn, and it most likely lie there still, probably broken, trampled under the feet of the monsters who stormed up the tower after them. His staff was gone as well, the runes in it overloaded after his last spell against the ogre. He felt guilty for having destroyed such an ancient artifact of the Grey Wardens, but shook it away, concerning himself with the situation at hand.

 _'Strange,'_ he thought, his eyes sweeping over the large bed his naked body lie upon, _'how did I get here?'_ It seemed like only moments the blackened crossbow bolts had slammed into his chest.

Gingerly, his hands grazed the flesh of his torso, searching for any signs of the bolts that had pierced his flesh. But to his astonishment, he felt no scars save for what he had expected to be there. Now that he thought about it, he really should have been feeling some sort of residual pain, but instead he felt nothing.

But before he could ruminate any further on the matter of his well being, a cough drew his attention to the side of the bed, where a pair of familiar golden eyes stared mischievously at him.

"Ah, you're eyes finally open." The woman said in her slow, seductive manner "mother shall be pleased."

Earlier when he had scanned the room, he had not picked up anyone or anything besides himself. So her sudden appearance had him stiffen his back, eyes wide and hands clutching his sword, almost drawing it upon her but holding himself in check.

Using his breathing techniques, he managed to calm himself down enough to ask the questions that have been gnawing at his mind.

"Morrigan?" he asked, and at her nod he continued "where are we? What happened?"

"You were injured and mother rescued you" she said lazily, and asked with a shrug "do you not remember?"

"I remember being shot..." Alim said slowly, and narrowed his eyes and continued "and yes I remember your mother." He didn't mention the part about her transforming into a bird, he didn't need her thinking he had lost his mind or anything of the sort.

"Wait!" He yelled suddenly, jumping up from the bed as his mind finally caught up with him. "What happened to the army? To the king?" he asked, eyes wide with worry.

"The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field," Morrigan explained slowly, entirely unconcerned with relaying troubling news to a potentially unstable naked ma. "The darkspawn won your battle" Alim gasped as the news hit him harder than any darkspawn bolt.

Glamdring clattered to the floor as he fell back to the bed in shock and placed his head in his hands, eyes shut tight as he tried to block out the screams echoing within his mind.

"Those he abandoned were massacred" she continued, even though he was not truly listening to her at this point. "Your friend... he is not taking it well."

Alim's eyes darkened, devoid of all emotion.

They lost… Everyone was dead. King Cailan, Duncan, Jena and the other wardens, Marian and Carver, Captain Varel… They lost, and now the darkspawn were going to continue their march to the north.

They lost, and now Farelden would fall.

"Do you know if..." He breathed in deeply to calm himself, "if there are any survivors from the battle?"

"A few stragglers, perhaps." He breathed a sigh of relief, but unfortunately Morrigan continued "but I would not put much stock in their continued survival with the darkspawn in pursuit." He retreated further into himself at her words, but if Morrigan noticed or cared, she did not say anything.

It was truly a wretched thing, for a person to witness so much death without so much as batting an eyelash. It was especially so for a mage, one who had the potential to deal out such destruction en masse. 

"Your friend has veered between denial and grief since Mother told him. He is outside by the fire," she said, her tone becoming cheerier at the end, pointing her thumb over her shoulder "Mother asked to see you when you awoke. _"_

This was why people hated and feared them, for this was exactly the sort of callous behavior that the Magesters of Tevinter were so renowned for.

Shaking his head and breathing in deeply, he ignored his (perhaps premature, after all she must have had days to get over it) judgements of her and said "my friend, you mean Alistair?"

"So that is the suspicious, dim-witted one's name?" she asked with a raised eyebrow "interesting." He had to suppress a shudder at the calculating look in her eyes. True, he often wore the same look himself, but it looked so much more... menacing on this femme fatale.

"He is as you are, the darkspawn did nothing that Mother's magic could not heal."

She huffed petulantly and said "though I suspect 'twould be unkind to say he is being childish."

 _'Very unkind'_ was the though that went unsaid, for he was certain that she would just have a sharp retort at the ready. He knew people like her before, callous, acidic individuals whose callous disregard for others bordered on the sosiopathic. Such people always had to have the last word. Even if it meant crossing the line from mean-spirited to actual evil.

"Thank you for helping me, Morrigan," Alim said as he picked up Glamdring and stood from the bed.

"I… You are welcome," Morrigan answered with an awkward stutter at actually being thanked for something she had done. All her life, she had been taught that good deeds would only go unrewarded, so the elf's words of appreciation threw her off kilter. "Though Mother did most of the work, I am no healer."

"Morrigan... would you mind giving me some privacy while I get dressed," Alim said, noticing a wood and metal chest at the end of the bed which must have contained an outfit for him to wear on the way out.

Morrigan gave a delighted chuckle, seeing yet another opportunity to fluster her unwitting house-guest, "there is no need to worry on my account Warden" she said seductively, looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

Leaning against the wall in a way that emphasized her figure, she said "I do not mind watching." She grabbed her elbow with her left hand, and with her right she traced a long finger along her full bottom lip. Alim blushed at the gesture, but instead of shying away like she had intended, he merely smirked at her.

It immediately clicked in his mind that this wasn't an actual attempt at seduction, as the look in Morrigan's eyes weren't of real sexual desire. This was a mind game, an attempt at manipulating him like the inexperienced boy she thought he was, and she was trying to play him like a lute. Well he wouldn't let her, and after having lived in a tower full of top-tier academics his whole life, she didn't realize just out of her depth she was.

"Well then," he began in a confidant tone, and she arched an eyebrow once more, "you did, after all, heal me. I think it high time I repay you for that" he said, gazing at her through lowered eyelids, a seductive gleam to his eyes.

"R-repay me?" she asked nervously, her breath hitched in her throat giving her a small stutter. She cursed herself as she realized that he flipped the script on her, and thought of ways she could regain her composure and control of the game. He smirked, he could almost see what she that she was thinking of ways to flip the script on him again, but he was faster than her. He stepped in closer to her before she could coordinated herself and she backed away a step as she realized exactly how out of her league she was, but seemed to have forgotten how close to the wall she was, and her eyes widened and her blush intensified when her back hit the wall.

Alim slowly reached his hands to press against the wall on either side of her head, revealing to her her powerlessness, even though they both knew that he had already won, and leaned in to whisper into the ear of the shaking witch. Several seconds of this, of him whispering suggestions into her ear had her drooling as her vivid imagination ran wild with imaginings of blissful submission to the elven mage against her wishes.

The people of Kinloch Hold had nothing to do with their time other than practice with magic, preform rituals, read, and experiment. The tower was a place of knowledge and wisdom the likes of which was unseen in the rest of Ferelden. This of course meant that those within the tower knew things about sex that no one else except for those who worked in the more... unsavory fields of employment knew, and even then only the most experienced and hardened ones at that. So of course what Alim was whispering into the beautiful witch's ear were things that she not only never would have thought of on her own (even with a mother who spared no detail about her sexual exploits), but didn't even think was possible.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin came when she felt something a certain part of his anatomy poking her in the stomach.

She squealed ungracefully, an act that would have her blushing in mortification when looking back at this in hindsight, and ducked under his arm. Alim beamed at having beaten her at her own game as she moved behind the divider to give him his requested privacy, her face on fire and her mouth struggling to form any words.

Smiling at the heated glare he could feel from the other side of the divider, he opened the chest and got dressed, ignoring the fact that she was likely swearing her eventual revenge against him.

* * *

His mood once again somber, Alim opened the door of the hut and walked outside.

He shivered as he stepped out into the cold, foggy clearing, the wet grass crunching under his feet. It was morning, the still dim sunlight fighting to make it through the canopy of trees and seemingly constricting layer of fog. Suddenly it seem as if he had just awoken from a nightmare rather than having spent a few days in a hut, being brought back from the brink of death by a couple of witches with unknown intentions.

He could not sense the darkspawn anywhere around them, the by now familiar pulsating feeling gone from his mind, but was uncertain if this pointed toward their absence, if being unconscious so long had done something to his sensory abilities, or even if the pair of witches had done anything to him in his unconscious and vulnerable state.

Anything was possible, and he didn't like it one bit.

He wondered at his sudden mood swings... his emotional state had never jumped around this much in such a short period of time. He figured that it was likely the aftermath of the battle affecting his mind. He knew next to nothing about war or the things those who fought in it suffered, but didn't think that mood swings, of all things, could be too much of a stretch.

He also had to wonder why he was still himself. Back at the tower, he would have never allowed himself to feel this many different emotions in such a short period of time, and certainly not as strongly as he was. Either two things were true at this point, one; his strict discipline over his own emotions was unnecessary, as the risk of possession was not as dire as he was told, highly unlikely as he himself had witnessed how strong demons were and how easily they could possess mages if they slipped up. Or two, something about this place was protecting him, preventing him from falling to to the evil spirits of the Fade.

This was the more likely scenario, after all the ones who lived here were two very powerful mages. They must have taken measures to protect themselves so that they wouldn't have to watch themselves at all times.

Alistair was sitting sullenly at the side of the fire, dead eyes staring out of a sullen face. His armor was long gone, and like himself he only wore trousers, a jacket, gloves and boots, enough to stave off the cold, but not much else. He suddenly felt himself wondering how safe they were here, if they were attacked (either by the two women or the darkspawn he was sure were out there somewhere), then they had no armor to protect them. But then all of Morrigan and her mother's work would have been for nothing, so he had no choice but to trust them for now.

The elderly woman herself stood to the side, her back straight and unbowed by the tragic events. Her crimson robes, iron armor and staff all pristine and reflecting the dim light. In all regards, she looked every bit as proud and uncaring as her daughter.

"You see?" She spoke up suddenly, spooking Alistair so badly he jumped to his feet and drew his sword at the noise. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden," Morrigan's mother told Alistair, the man looking almost sheepish, were it even possible with how depressed he looked, putting his sword away. "You worry too much, young man."

"You… you're alive!" Alistair said to Alim, surprised that the witch had not simply killed them, and relieved that his friend stood before him, alive and unharmed. Alistair hugged the elf tightly, clinging to him like a lifeline. "I thought you were dead for sure…"

The embrace initially took him by surprise, but before long he had wrapped his arms around the human, offering comfort that the both of them desperately needed.

"I'm fine," he told the man. For Alistair, seeing Alim again had been proof that everything he had gone through was real, and the other man's presence was comforting in the face of all this darkness.

"This just doesn't seem real," Alistair sighed, letting go of his mage companion. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead with the rest of them."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," she scolded him gently, her brows knit together in indignation. "Especially not after I have brought you both to the safety of my home."

"I didn't mean…" he stuttered, trying to compose himself. Alistair had always thought of himself as a chivalric sort of person, but the events of the past few days had shaken him to the core. From the minor skirmishes with the darkspawn and all the diseased soldier that had wrought, to the battle with the full force of the horde and finally the betrayal of one of the men they trusted most. Straightening his back, if only to keep up appearances, as he was nowhere near feeling like his normal self yet, he asked "but what do we call you? You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless," the old woman said, shrugging her shoulders dismissively. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth, I suppose that will do." Alim widened his eyes slightly at this bit of information, everyone had heard the stories of Flemeth. He could not imagine half of them were true, but even with that being the case then the woman was truly someone to be feared.

The name Flemeth appeared many times through out the ages, and featured in many of the history books he had read. A vengeful widow who overthrew Lord Conobar Estlan in the Towers age, a vengeful Chasind shaman who sacrificed her life to save the Chasind wilders hundreds of years later. The tales spoke not of another apostate or maleficar on the run from the Chantry, but of a true abomination. One who sold her soul to a demon of the fade for the immense power she even now wielded.

He sighed, even when he was sick to the point of dizziness, it seemed that his first impressions of people were on the mark.

" _The_ Flemeth? From the legends?" Alistair asked, surprised. "Daveth was right" he said resignedly "you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" the old woman countered indignantly, as though calling herself by the name of a legendary abomination, rapist, child-stealer and mass murderer (among other things) did not paint her in a bad light and gave her any right to be indignant at being called out as such. "I know a bit of magic," he had to suppress a snort at that, "and it has served you both well, has it not?"

"I suppose we should thank you," Alim said, putting a bit of magic into his voice, hoping to calm her ire, as well as any she may be causing Alistair who may have been more angered at her revealing herself to them than himself, what with him being a former Templar.

Flemeth looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, having felt the additional magical energy in the air and immediately knowing what he had tried to do, but let it go since his efforts had been nothing but benign.

"If you know what's good for you, I suppose you should!" Flemeth said with a laugh. Alim looked at Alistair, thinking about his next question.

"Why did you save us," Alim asked finally after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, "and just us." Alistair turned to Flemeth, as eager for an answer as the elf. She laughed at him and elaborated "well we couldn't have all the Grey Wardens of Ferelden dying at once, could we? As the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden, it is your duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"The land is more divided now than ever" Alim stated, looking toward the lake "and we have only Loghain to thank for that."

"I don't understand..." Alistair said scrunching up his face, "the king was his son-in-law, why would he betray him?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth spoke up, "men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature" she stated with sad eyes, hinting at something in her past that he didn't want to even try to figure out, as convoluted as the legends surrounding her were. "Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver, perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The archdemon," Alistair agreed immediately, and thinking about the menacing creature he had seen in his dreams Alim quickly made a suggestion of his own. "We should contact the rest of the Grey Wardens," Alim suggested. "Duncan and Cailan already summoned them," Alistair reminded him, "They'll come if they can, but I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them since the closest ones are all Orlesian. We must assume they won't arrive in time if at all."

 _'Loghain really hates Orlais that much, that he would rather close off the border than accept aid against the Blight?'_ Alim asked incredulously, even though he had already suspected as much. The man had suffered greatly at the hands of Orlesian soldiers, but how much he didn't know. That part of Loghain's past was strangely absent from history books or biographies. But whatever extent he suffered at their hands, that didn't justify a hatred to this extent.

 _'It looks like it,'_ Alim thought solemnly, _'and unfortunately his position gives him the power to actually do it.'_ Alim had to shake his head at Loghain's foolish selfishness, that he would let his countrymen suffer for the sake of naught but his own grudge.

"If Arl Eamon knew the truth, he would never stand for it!" Alistair stated vehemently, yet also somehow subdued. Like he had yet to truly come out of the funk seeing their betrayal had left him in. _'Eamon Gwarren?" he wondered, 'the arl of Redcliffe?'_ "The landsmeet would never stand for it, there'd be civil war.

"Do you think this Arl Eamon would help us Alistair?" Alim asked, though his real question of whether or not the Arl would trust their word over that of a Teyrn went unsaid. Alistair spoke of the Arl in a familiar tone of voice, and as such asking such a thing would only upset the human. "Yes, he will... he has to." Alistair responded, a hint of steel in his glazed over eyes, surprising Alim who had to wonder at how someone could be so despondent yet at the same time so passionate.

Alistair took a moment to think before continuing "Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar, he still has all his men.

He was also Cailan's uncle. I know him! He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet." The look in his eyes changed as he got an idea, and Alim could see what that idea was, and he approved. "Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" Alim found himself feeling better at seeing the renewed enthusiasm on Alistair's face.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," he agreed. He had only ever read books, and everyone knew those were only as accurate as the author's viewpoints, but by all accounts Arl Eamon was an honorable man who treated his subjects fairly. Add to that the fact that Alistair seemed to know the man personally. "We should go to see the Arl as soon as we are able."

"Such determination," Flemeth laughed. She knew well how to judge the worth of people, and knew well that such a task was not out of their reach. "How intriguing."

"I still don't know if Arl Eamon's help will be enough," Alistair admitted, the smile falling from his face when the great flaw in the plan revealed itself. "He can't defeat the darkspawn horde by himself!"

"Surely there are other allies we could call on," Alim suggested, hinting at the treaties but not outright stating it. He wanted Alistair to come to that conclusion himself.

"The treaties, of course!" Alistair inwardly cursed himself for his forgetfulness, "Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"

"I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages," Alim had to suppress a snort, he knew all to well just how ridiculous this all sounded, "-this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else… that sounds like an army to me," Flemeth told them, leaning her staff against her shoulder as she placed her hands on her hips in a gesture that not only made it seem like she thought this plan was both brilliant and incredibly foolish, but also managed to emphasize just how attractive her figure was for her age.

Alim had to turn away to avoid staring.

"So, can we do this?" Alistair asked Alim, ignoring Flemeth's posturing almost completely, "go to Redcliffe and these other places and… build an army?"

"Why not?" Alim said blithely, belying his dark mood. "That's what Grey Wardens do, isn't it?" His attempt at levity didn't get the desired results, as Alistair still looked unnaturally sullen.

"So you are set then?" Flemeth asked, taking her staff from her shoulder and straightening her spine. "Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Alim said with a sigh. He was not quite content with the plan, historically guerrilla warfare rarely worked out well. But it was better still than just waiting in the wilds, hiding from the inevitable until they were swallowed up by the Blight. Plus he knew he had to act, if not on his honor as a Warden, then on his honor as a patriot. If there was anything he could do for Ferelden or her people, then he was duty bound to go to the depths of the Void and back to see them safe.

"Thank you for everything you have done for us Flemeth." He said earnestly, wrapping his left hand around Glamdring's hilt and bowing at the waist.

"No no, thank you," was her reply, Alim rose to look her in the eye, "you are the Grey Wardens here, not I" she said, thanking them for their future actions.

 _'Can she see into the future?'_ He would not be surprised if she could, if what the legends spoke of her abilities were even half true. Though prophetic abilities were not unheard of, if the 'statue' in Kinloch's basement was any indication.

"Now… before you go, there is one more thing I can offer you," the old woman said, glancing sharply toward the door of her cabin, and as if on cue the door creaked open on its rusted hinges and out strode Morrigan, her strut haughty and her hips swaying in an almost exaggerated fashion, yet still restrained enough to be called subtle. She looked to be either trying to forget about their earlier mind game, or trying to avenge her loss.

Possibly both.

"The stew is bubbling Mother," Morrigan said slowly, subtly drawing out every last syllable. "Shall we have two guests for the eve," she quirked her head to the side, looking to him and Alistair, "or none?" She said, her eyebrows knitting together as she looked suddenly toward her mother.

This was another mind game, he realized. He shook his head and sighed, as good at these games as he was, he quickly tired of them. Heaven forbid he ever go into politics, he'd just end up killing everyone after a single day.

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly girl," Flemeth told her daughter, "and you will be joining them."

"Such a shame... what?" Morrigan snapped, surprised at the unexpected turn of events, as were they all.

"You heard me, girl. Last time I looked, you had ears!" Flemeth let out a barking laugh at her daughter's flustered expression and at her own twisted sense of humor. The joke was lost on Alistair, but Alim looked away with a grimace, as he had a very good idea about what just passed through Flemeth's mind.

"Thank you," he said hesitantly, "but if Morrigan doesn't wish to join us, then I will not force her to do so." Morrigan glared heatedly at him, she had no wish to be subjected to chivalry or gallantry or any such tripe.

"Her magic will be useful," Flemeth informed them, hammering in the point. "Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

He suppressed a sigh, he could see that any argument he might have against it, she was going to force them to take Morrigan with them anyway. He didn't have it in him to be suspicions of her, for it was as clear as day that she had ulterior motives for this. It was what those motives were that what he would have to figure out.

Later though, much later. Preferably with plenty of alcohol.

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan demanded, offended at being forced into a suicide mission.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years," Flemeth continued, conferring an entirely different message through her eye contact with her daughter, one secret from the wardens. "Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens," she turned to them "consider this repayment for your lives."

"Very well then, we'll take her with us," Alim conceded. He had guessed right, but absolutely refused to think more on the subject until he had a glass of wine in hand. If only to dull him from the headache that thinking on it would cause.

Turning to Morrigan, he bowed to her, but not as low as his bow to Flemeth. He was clearly out of his depth with the older woman, but not so with her. He did not want to convey any sot of weakness to the young witch. "I would be honored to have you fight at my side, Morrigan, should you wish it."

"Not to… look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems?" Alistair asked. "Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate." Alim faced Alistair with a deadpanned expression, but did not speak of the crushing irony.

"If you do not wish help from us _illegal mages_ young man," she said in an incredibly sardonic tone of voice, "perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

"Point taken," Alistair sighed. Normally he'd have a quip for that, but the grief was still too near.

"Mother, this is not how I wanted this," Morrigan said slowly, her words having many different meanings, some the wardens understood, and some that they did not. "I am not even ready-" she continued, again her words having many meanings, but Flemeth cut her short.

"You must be ready," Flemeth interrupted, addressing the concerns that the wardens understood verbally, but at the same time addressing the concerns that the wardens didn't understand through eye contact. "Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn." Alim arched an eyebrow, he doubted they would be alone for long, for surely they would pick up allies along the way. "They need you Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

 _'Give us a little credit, why don't you'_ Alim protested silently, but conceding Flemeth's point. She was right, and he knew it. As powerful as he was, it was just him and Alistair trying to outmaneuver two different armies.

"I… understand," Morrigan finally conceded, finally breaking eye contact with her mother, signifying that she understood the hidden points as well.

"And you, Wardens, do you understand?" Flemeth asked them, advancing a few steps, "I give you that which I value above all in this world." she tapped her staff on the ground, the _clack_ reverberating despite the marshy ground, "I do this because you **must** succeed."

"I understand Flemeth" Alim said, bowing once more, "your daughter will come to no harm with us, this I swear." He promised with a hand over his heart. Flemeth smiled and nodded.

He could hear a indignant/mortified scoff coming from Morrigan at the notion of being protected like some useless damsel. He shook his head when he straightened, clearly she had no real experience with chivalry, and must have thought it to be mere pretty words, men pretending to be nice so that women would sleep with them.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please," Morrigan said, sounding indignant still at being made party to a clearly suicidal elf and a human whose stupidity made him beneath her notice. She turned around and went back into the hut, though not without shooting them all one last venomous glance, and re-emerged only a few minutes later with a small pack.

"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens," she said as she came back outside, the sway gone from her hips. She was far too angry to keep up her attempts at seduction "I suggest the village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far and you will find much you need there." A glance at the former Templar prompted her next remark. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide." She stated in a biting tone.

"The choice is yours."

"No, I would prefer it if you would speak your mind," was Alim's response. She was clearly talkative, if a bit pessimistic and acidic, but she seemed a bright lass, bound to have a good idea or two along the way.

"Oho" laughed Flemeth, "you will come to regret saying that, I assure you." Morrigan glared daggers at her mother for her glib remark "dear sweet mother," she started, acid dripping from her tongue, "how kind of you to cast me out like this, how fondly I shall remember this moment."

"Well if you want something done right, do it yourself," Flemeth said, unbothered by her daughters glare or tone, "or hear about it for a decade or two afterwords." She said more quietly, and Alim had to snap himself out of detective mode before he tried to think about what she meant by that.

"I just…" Alistair spoke up, obviously irritated by the idea of taking the witch with them, but not wanting to turn her away, "do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?" Alistair asked, looking at Alim.

"We need all the help we can get Alistair," he reminded him, the Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them."

"I guess you're right," he admitted with a pout.

"I am so pleased to have your approval," Morrigan said snidely. Alim sighed, he could already see the animosity building between the templar and the witch. It didn't help that she wasn't seeing Alistair at his best, he foresaw a need to make them kiss and make up. Well more the latter than the former, actually that would be interesting.

_'No Alim, you're a Grey Warden now. No matchmaking.'_

"I think we should just get underway," he interjected quickly before the argument could go any further. He gave Morrigan and Alistair a pointed look, silenced them for the moment.

"Farewell Mother," Morrigan said, turning to an amused Flemeth. "Do not forget the stew on the fire, I would hate to return to a burned down hut."

"Bah." Flemeth scoffed, "'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight," Flemeth scolded.

"I…" Morrigan stuttered, sounding genuinely hurt. "All I meant was…"

"Yes, I know," Flemeth interrupted, her voice soft and kind. That alone caught Alim off-guard, though when it came to Flemeth that was actually par for the course at this point. "Do try to have fun, dear."

* * *

Flemeth's performance in this was a bit wooden and doesn't diverge that much from the game, so I'm sorry for that. I'm just not that good at writing that type of character. The edits were taking longer than I thought, so here is the first half of the chapter. I should have the next half up before next week.


	13. After the Storm Part 2

Ever since leaving the safety of Flemeth's enclosure, he had taken first watch at night. It was a strategic choice, as an elf he could see in the dark, as a mage he needed less sleep, and as a warden he could sense the enemy should they get too close. That said, the current situation was that ever since Ostagar, a storm had settled over the region, as if the sky had opened up to mourn the deaths of so many. Though he didn't notice at first as Flemeth's hut seemed to have some form of protection from the elements.

Alim clutched his jacket tighter about his body, cursing his inability to stay dry and warm. The canopy of trees kept the rain off of his form, but only to an extent, and he was unable to keep a fire going for the same reason. Alistair had to be convinced that magical fire didn't have any special properties, regardless of how much energy was channeled into it. Magical fire was still just fire.

It had been a full two weeks since they left Flemeth's enclosure, and three since Ostagar. Apparently the darkspawn bolts had injured them worse than they thought, several vital organs were struck. Over the centuries, Flemeth had learned healing spells that could return a man to full health from the brink of death, given enough time and attention was spent on them. Had they had been in any hands other than hers, they would have died long ago.

A long, long two weeks of creeping through the forest, dodging bands of darkspawn and subsisting on whatever they could forage, which wasn't much. The forest was dying for the presence of the darkspawn, and as a consequence they were all becoming somewhat malnourished. Alim had even had to resort to eating the animals they hunted as there wasn't enough vegetation to survive off of. He was only eating minimal amounts of meat, but he was already feeling the side effects. The stress of evading darkspawn, being forced to deal with this foul weather and their hunger all built up, causing his vitriolic companions to lash out at each-other.

He had already played mediator to their arguing several times, but the the meat he was forced to eat was making him slow, and even he was losing patience with them. He just preyed that they find the village and got a good meal, and to add to his burden he found that he had become the leader of this group by unspoken decision.

Alistair was distant and withdrawn, so consumed was he with the loss of Duncan and the others, and even then he had previously expressed his fears of leadership. He met any challenge the darkspawn presented with a vengeance, but after the fight was over he would always fall back into himself. Morrigan, on the other hand, had no desire to lead, nor did she have the charisma or the ability to do so even if she did. She was only here at her mother's urging, not at her own desire to save the world from the Blight.

Alim did not want to play the leading man, such characters were never happy at the end of the story. But for the sake of the two following him, even if one of them wouldn't shed a tear if either of them died, he took up the mantle proudly. Though, that was not to say that he did not have his doubts. He was a lone elf, a powerful one sure, but one that had his fair share of scars, both mental and physical.

It was these three upon whom the entire world depended. It was a grim prospect, and as time went on he found that he couldn't convince himself otherwise. Though he did not let it show on his face or in his posture, one thing he had learned from King Cailan was how to keep up a front of confidence in order to keep morale high... though he doubted it had any effect. Alistair was too depressed to pay attention and Morrigan just didn't care.

Alim sighed, their adventure was off to a miserable start. Thankfully Morrigan could scout ahead in animal form without being detected by enemies. Using this method of scouting, the witch had reported that the Imperial Highway was no more than a days journey, and the village only a few hours beyond that, something which was welcome news to all of them. Once they were in the village they could get a proper meal, supplies and rations for their journey.

So distracted was he by these thoughts that he failed to detect Morrigan walking up behind him to take the next watch, and he jumped when she coughed to get his attention. Weary from a long days travel, he gladly stood and went to lie under the nearest tree to sleep while Morrigan took her shift. He slipped the jacket from his body and beat it against the tree to free it of water before draping it over his shoulders to serve as a makeshift blanket.

He was asleep and in the fade within moments, leaving the seemingly never-ending vigil to Morrigan and later to Alistair.

The Imperial Highway wasn't hard to find once they cleared the treeline, though that wasn't the most pressing concern at the moment.

They were all weary and weakened from the long trek out of the wilds, and a darkspawn raiding party stood between them and the highway. He sighed wearily and drew his sword as the monsters charged, but was genuinely surprised at what happened next. He was set to launch a fireball at the hurlock before him when a growling blur ran out of the woods and tackled it to the ground.

That blur turned out to be a mabari warhound. The large dog's patchy fur was tangled with twigs and leaves from the brush, the leather collar around its neck worn and tattered with several of the studs missing, and its kaddis almost completely wiped away. Despite this, he recognized the large dog currently mauling the hurlock as the one he helped at Ostagar.

The hiss of a shriek broke through his reverie, and he ducked out of the way of one of its rusted blades and cut it down with a bolt of mana. The dog got off the dead darkspawn and backed up to stand at his side, growling at the darkspawn raiders. "Well isn't that sweet," Morrigan said sarcastically as she shot off a Virulent Walking Bomb spell at the monsters, taking out several genlocks, spraying the area with black ichor.

He winced and ran forward to to the next enemy in line, the dog and Alistair both joining the fray behind him. He strengthened his arms with magic and brought Glamdring down on the hurlock alpha's head in a savage chop, cleaving through its crude helmet and skull in one go. Alistair, having since lost his shield, had to dodge around the dual blades of a shriek before beheading it, he reversed the blade in his hand and thrust it backwards into the face of a genlock. The dog ran towards a shriek and sunk his teeth into its leg, toppling the monster over and dragging it behind him as he bowled over a few genlocks.

Morrigan did what she did best and took advantage of the situation, casting a firestorm spell and turning the genlocks on the ground into ashes. But not being a Grey Warden herself, she couldn't sense the alpha approaching her from behind, and her usual situational awareness was shot because of having gone for so long without a decent meal. She gasped when a pair of strong grey arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, pinning her arms and forcing her to drop her staff. She flailed in the things grasp, pressing her hand to it and sending a shock through the things body, but the hurlock alpha merely twitched at the electricity coursing through it and kept dragging her away.

Not many outside of the Grey Wardens knew what the darkspawn did to their female captives, but Morrigan knew only too well. Her mother told her many horror stories in her childhood, and that was the one that scarred her the most, sticking in her mind like a tumor. Knowing what the large creature intended to do with her, she struggled with everything left in her weary body, her mind going through all the spells she knew to find a way out of this, but there was nothing she could do. She could weaken the creature, but not enough to escape, all the offensive spells she knew had large areas of affect and would kill her as well as the darkspawn, and she was too weak to transform into an animal and scamper away.

An undignified squeak escaped her mouth when a black blur shot past her face and struck the hurlock in-between the eyes. She stilled and looked to the side, seeing a blackened bolt. She felt the alpha beginning to fall backwards, so she thrust herself forward out of its limp arms and landed in a tumble. She grabbed her staff hurriedly in both hands, feeling infinitely safer with the focus in hand and stood to her feet. The darkspawn were all dead and Alistair had dropped his sword and picked up a crossbow dropped by the alpha that the mabari had killed.

Morrigan lowered her staff in shock that Alistair of all people was the one who saved her. She had expected to look up and see Alim with the crossbow, she'd even have expected too see that a darkspawn had saved her with a stray shot, but Alistair? The man was a fool, and a templar fool at that. He must have thought that she'd swoon like some like the women in those trashy romance novels and give herself to him in thanks.

She scowled and stormed over to the templar, slapping the crossbow out of his hands. "Wha- hey!?" Alistair yelled after her. He'd just tried to help her, and this was her way of saying thanks?

He looked down and bit his lip, he was raised to be a gentleman, and it wouldn't do to curse her out over this. Morrigan spun on her heel and shouted "I am not some damsel who needs to be saved!" She turned again, crossing her arms under her breasts and fuming silently.

"Well I'm sorry," he shouted back, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "but that's what it looked like from where I was standing little girl!" Morrigan didn't reply verbally, she merely glared, looking very much like she wanted nothing more than to burn him to cinders.

Alim shook his head, turning away from at the human's argument and knelt in front of the mabari. "Hello," he said and the dog barked happily, which he guessed was a good response. The great beast could have slobbered all over his face or attacked him. "Have you been following us?" he asked, and another happy bark was his response.

"Hey," Alistair spoke, turning away from Morrigan, "that looks like one of the mabari from Ostagar." The man stepped closer and knelt down to put his hands on the dogs face "yes I remember now, this is Hohaku. He belonged to one of the Ash Warriors who fell in the last skirmish," so that was the dog's name. He had read a story once about a mabari named Hohaku, he was apparently a mean and arrogant hound.

He truly didn't think a dog could possibly be anything close to arrogant. He could simply have been rabid, the minstrels embellishing the story over the years as they were wont to do. Such was the way of things.

The ash warrior likely must have been trying to redeem the name.

Morrigan made a sound of disgust, "so I take it this mangy mutt is to come with us then?" she asked incredulously, clearly she was not too taken with the idea of traveling with a dog. Alistair knelt down an put his arms around Hohaku's neck and looked up at Morrigan, Alim would have thought that the with would enjoy the sight of the templar on his knees, but all she did was scoff. "He's not mangy," Alistair argued, and started to scratch the mabari behind the ears "you're not mangy," he continued to the dog in baby talk "are you boy?"

The dog barked happily in response, and nuzzled Alistairs face. Alim smiled in amusement at the sight, he liked dogs well enough, but was really more of a cat person. Morrigan on the other hand, scoffed and turned away from the sight of the templar making a fool of himself, acting all lovey-dovey with the dirty mongrel. "Well at least the fool templar will have some company."

Alistair smiled, but then thought for a moment about her scathing statement, and what it inferred. "Hey!?" he exclaimed at her retreating back. Many people, friendly and not-so-friendly types alike liked to poke fun at him in such a way, but Morrigan's remark was not only a true insult, but one that she actually meant... and that actually hurt him.

"Enough, both of you!" Shouted Alim, turning to face the former templar and the witch. If this argument was allowed to continue, it would only escalate and the party of three, now four, would tear themselves apart.

It was slightly off-putting to think that a single petty argument could doom the fate of an entire country.

"But-" Alistair started before Alim turned to him with a withering glare and the man turned away, unable to look into his friends eyes. Morrigan rolled her eyes and stormed town the road toward the imperial highway.

The imperial highway, a deceptively simple name for the grand stone road that circled all of known Thedas, leading toward every major settlement and thus shortening the journeys of travelers anywhere between days to months to even years. The highway itself was a grand structure of smooth white stone rising up a full ten meters from the ground below. The road itself, only four meters from the ground, was a smooth flat thoroughfare with with a three foot high railing on either side, and stretching up six meters on the sides were pillars, supporting a series of beautifully carved arches.

Like the fortress of Ostagar, the highway was a relic of the Tevinter Imperium. It was a thoroughfare intended not for the comfort of travelers, but to allow their armies quick passage across the far-reaching empire. It was the life's work of entire generations of slaves. Entire families had been worked from birth to death solely to work on the highway, with their cruel masters using foul magicks to stave of the slave's early deaths, ensuring that each and every one of Alim's ancient kin was old and gray before being allowed the sweet embrace of death.

In the following centuries, the nations that had sprung up from the empire's vacated lands, Ferelden, Orlais and Navarra to name a few, had taken over the highways use, maintaining it and even expanding upon it at their convenience. Though it hadn't been worked on by any slave workers since Tevinter had left the south, as the modern nobility would have you believe.

This was, however, sadly untrue, and there was not a soul in the world who thought differently. Even if the grand majority dare not mention it upon fear of death.

Still though, it was a wonder how the highway managed to survive these many thousands of years since the Imperium's retreat from the south. As it was, the only signs damage one could see upon the road were a series of cracks and fractures, from which grew all manner of flowering vine. But rather than detracting, they only added to the beauty of the ancient thoroughfare.

Alim placed his hand upon one of the many cracks, tracing his hand down the fracture and toward a vine covered in small pink blossoms. This stretch of the road was very familiar to him, even fourteen years later. He doubted he would ever forget this place.

His families old home was not far off now.

His companions ascended the ramp, himself following not too long after, and the four walked in uncomfortable silence. The hound, Hohaku, wined and nuzzled his face against his new master's leg, and was rewarded with a scratch to his ears.

The dog was not the only one who had picked up on their leaders sudden mood, but the others felt too awkward (Alistair) or felt it would ruin her image (Morrigan) to try to bring it up. Not only that, but after their harrowing trip through the wilds, none of them felt up to a long and depressing conversation, as the elf's slumped shoulders hinted at.

They followed the thoroughfare in the direction of Lothering, and it seemed at last their luck wore out as at the very edge of Lothering, they were greeted by what appeared to be a group of thugs who had blocked the road.

The way that they had set themselves up was to make themselves appear as proper soldiers. But judging from the hastily thrown together leather armor, mismatched weapons and varying standards, these men were naught but common thieves.

But better a common thief than a common assassin.

Thievs and bandits he could take care of without having to reveal himself as a mage before he was ready to do so.

"Wake up, gentlemen" he heard the lead man order with a flourish of his arms, "more travelers to attend to!" He turned at shot an amused glance at them, "and led by an elf of all things..." he shook his head and clicked his tongue in disappointment that two perfectly able humans would lower themselves by following the lead of an elf.

Alim had to resist the urge to his eyes as another of the thieves spoke up. "Err… they don't look much like them others, you know," From the tone of his voice, though that kind of thing could be faked for an advantage when violence inevitably broke out, so he couldn't be certain. But a person didn't have to be smart in order to swing a warhammer around, and with luck he could shave some skin off of a skilled opponent. "Uh… Maybe we should just let these ones pass…"

"Nonsense," the chipper sounding leader said quickly, seemingly blinded by his own unexpected success, quite likely, seeing the dead templar poorly hidden behind a barrel. "Greetings travelers!"

"Highwaymen," Alistair muttered in disapproval, his tone still disturbingly empty. "Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose."

"Do not wast time bandying words with these witless worms Alim," Morrigan said, and for all his notions of mercy, Alim couldn't help but agree with her. silently agreed with her. "I say teach them a lesson."

"Now is that any way to greet someone?" the first man asked. "A simple ten silvers and you're free to move on."

"You should listen to your friend," Alim said with narrowed eyes, placing a hand around Glamdring's hilt threateningly. "We're not refugees."

Hohaku picked up on his threatening tone and started to growl lowly at the thieves, causing them to back away a step.

"Y'see, what did I tell you?" asked the dumb one, still speaking slowly. "No wagons, and this one looks armed."

'Not half as dumb as he looks, is he? It is entirely plausible then, that the dullard act is just a ploy' Alim told himself silently.

"The toll applies to everyone, Hanric," the leader man said. "That's why it's a toll, and not, say..." the man pretended to search for his next words for a moment before finishing with "a refugee tax."

"Oh, right," said the one called Hanric, either he was playing along according to some preplanned script or the flimsy justification of his friend was enough to get him to go along with the farce. "Even if you're no refugee, you still gotta pay."

"Forget it, I'm not paying," Alim shot the thieves down, drawing his sword and getting into a ready stance. His muscles may have temporarily lost their strength and speed from two weeks of malnutrition, but with luck his skill in swordplay would make up for it, and hopefully he wouldn't have to use his magic. Plus, as was evidenced by the way these thieves handled their weapons, they were not soldiers or militiamen, they were just ordinary people taking advantage of those who would back down at the mere sight of a naked blade.

"Well, I can't say I'm pleased to hear that," the leader spoke again. "We have rules, you see."

"Right. We get to ransack your corpse then," Hanric added, not dropping the dullard act even when negotiations broke down, "those're the rules." Which meant that it was no act.

"Enough of this," Alim said in a tired and frustrated tone. He just wanted to get to the town inn, have himself a good meal and a stiff drink. But shite like this kept happening and pissing him off more and more with each passing moment.

"Well, this is going nowhere," the leader said with a sigh. "Let's take car of this then gents" the leader said, finally dropping his 'suave' voice and picking his mace. Alistair drew his sword and took a small step to the side so he could intercept anyone who tried to come at Morrigan, while the witch herself took a few steps back and prepared her staff. She still remembered being surprised by that darkspawn who grabbed her, and she wasn't going to take any chances again.

Despite their rough time of it, the three of them had managed to work out some basic strategy and teamwork between them. Not enough to overcome groups of trained soldiers or darkspawn incursions, but more than enough for a bunch of thieves. Although with the addition of a wildcard like the mabari Hohaku...

Hohaku charged forward as the first thief let out a warcry, the large dog going straight for the dullard and pinning him to the ground before he could get in a swing of his hammer. Another thief, an archer, took aim for the dog and Alistair shot him between the eyes with the darkspawn crossbow he had apparently decided to keep from their earlier altercation.

Alim walked forward almost calmly before intercepting a mace with his sword, before twisting on his heels and beheading the mace wielder, and going with the momentum, sunk his blade into the chest of the next man.

Morrigan loosened her stance, seeing that nothing was going to surprise her with Alistair, Alim and the dog blocking the path and the thieves themselves not thinking to hide some of their numbers to try for an attack from behind, she raised her staff in one hand and made a game of picking the enemies of one by one with blasts of ice, lightning and arcane energy.

Hohaku finished mauling the now dead dullard and began to growl at the only remaining man standing, the leader who had dropped his mace and fell back against a wooden crate in terror.

"All right, Alright!" He pleaded in a terrified voice, "we, I surrender!" the man cried out.

Alim rolled his eyes, relaxed his grip on Glamdring and walked forward calmly. "We… we-we're just trying to get by, before the darkspawn get us all!"

"You picked the wrong target," Alim snarled, eyes burning. Hohaku growled at the man from his position at the elf's side.

"Yes! Yes! Of course… We should have been more careful," the man stuttered, his voice cracking. It was almost embarrassing, talking to him.

"Hand over everything you've stolen," he demanded from the man, sticking Glamdring's wicked point under his chin.

"Yes! Yes, of course!" the man stuttered, carefully pulling out a bag that jingled with the sheer number of coins in it. "The coins we've collected are right here, just over a hundred silvers. The rest is in those chests, I swear!"

"Now you die," Alim snapped. "That's all you deserve."

The man stuttered, not expecting the finality of the elf's words even after having a sword at his throat for a full ten seconds. "I'm not going down without a fight!" the man insisted, expecting the elf to be the type to withdraw his sword and try fighting him one one one. Alim scoffed and thrust his blade forward, impaling the man's neck and the box behind him in one motion.

The others had nothing to say about his brutality, though he suspected Alistair would ask him about it later. Morrigain just smirked at him with a knowing look of appraisal in her eye, and Hohaku sat down on his hindquarters and looked up at him, panting.

Alim walked over to where he saw the body of the templar and, moving the barrel out of the way, he knelt down to rife through his belt pouch, looking for some form of identification. Inside found a note and a locket, and skimming over it quickly, he gleaned little of import.

So many of my fellow knights have been searching for the Urn. Surely one of them must have found Brother Genitivi by now. Still, until I hear that all is well, I must proceed as planned. Brother Genitivi holds the key to finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes: We always knew this, but I believe I now know where Brother Genitivi lies. I have been to his home in Denerim and found the trail, and I am amazed that other knights have not done likewise. Unless they have? No, it is best not to get caught up in thoughts of conspiracy. Ser Donall awaits my report in Lothering. I must go to him immediately and report what I have learned. Should anyone find these ramblings, all I ask is that he be informed of my fate. I pray that he complete what I cannot.

"Signed by Ser Henric of Redcliffe…" Alim read out loud. "A knight by the name of Donnall is waiting for him to report in to him in Lothering." He sighed, these things just kept piling up. He wondered if his work would ever be done. Well, they were headed to Lothering anyway, it wouldn't be too big of a detour for them to find the knight and inform him of his comrades fate.

He stood again and checked through the rest of the things the highwaymen had taken from their victims. Aside from the coin pouch he had already taken from the now dead leader, there was nothing of value here. Well, nothing they could take with them at least.

"Ready to continue then?" Morrigan asked facetiously, Alim shot her a halfhearted glare and continued down the path.

"Well..." a voice called out, and Alim was surprised to not that it was Alistair. He hadn't spoken up in so long, barring the incident with the dog and his heated arguments with Morrigan, he hadn't expected to hear from him so soon. "There it is. Lothering, pretty as a painting," Alistair said as they looked out over the from his tone of voice, he was guessing that he had at long last gotten over the events of Ostagar.

"Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?" Morrigan asked, in her usual snarky/mocking tone, but strangely enough without it's usual acid. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"

Ah, there was the acid.

"Is my being upset so hard to understand?" Alistair challenged. "Have you never lost someone important to you? What would you do if your mother died?" Alim turned away and sighed heavily.

"Before or after I stopped laughing?" Morrigan countered, smirking.

"Right, very creepy, forget I asked," Alistair conceded, sighing in exasperation.

"What did you want to talk about, Alistair?" Alim said quickly before Morrigan could speak again. It didn't work however, as the witch couldn't resist getting in another dig at their resident ex-templar.

"His naval, I suspect," the apostate said sarcastically. "He's certainly been contemplating it for long enough."

"Oh, I get it," Alistair spoke up with a mean-spirited smirk of his own. "This is the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life." Alim opened his mouth to speak up and head off the impending argument, but was cut off once again.

"I can be friendly when I desire to," Morrigan said indignantly. "But alas," she started, crossing her arms and looking down her nose at the male human, "desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."

Alistair looked like he wanted to retort, to walk over to her and smack her, to unleash a holy smite upon her, to do something... but instead he turned to Alim and ignored her. Something which, he was pleased to note, incensed her far more than any of those earlier options... except maybe the smite, he expected that one would make her want to kill him in his sleep.

"Anyway, I thought we should talk abut where we intend to go, first," Alistair said, ignoring the simmering Morrigan.

He hummed thoughtfully, turning to look out at Lothering for a moment, gazing out over the small provincial town, the people milling about... 'it hasn't changed a bit.'

"We should try to use these treaties first, I assume." He said simple, trying to remember the Ferelden maps he had read back at the Tower. Geography had never been his strong suit, so the first step would be to purchase a map from a local grocer and let Alistair guide the way. Morrigan, having grown up in a hut in the woods, would be even worse with maps than Alim himself was.

"Yes, but have you looked at them yet?" he asked.

"Yes" Alim, "there was little else to do in the wilds." Alistair winced at the reminder of what the three of the would probably remember as the worst two weeks in their lives. "The first step, I think, is to buy a map. I've never been very good at geography, and Morrigan is probably even worse than me, so that'll be you're job Alistair."

Morrigan scoffed at the admonishment of her abilities, however true, and refrained herself from commenting about it. "That's fair enough I suppose. Let's head into the village whenever you're ready."


	14. Poll Notice, Updated

The poll is now closed. The new chapter will be up within the week. Check my fanfiction.net profile the results.


End file.
